


I know now what trouble can be (and why it follows me so easily)

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Sterek Big Bang Challenge, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: An AU retelling of season one, where Stiles can see and talk to ghosts. After Laura is murdered, she goes to Stiles, asking him to help her brother Derek figure out who killed her. Stiles and Derek gradually learn to trust each other as they help Scott with his new werewolf abilities, and try to discover the identity of the Alpha that bit him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sterek Big Bang! This is an AU of season one, but I have made a lot of changes. Most notably, I have moved up the events to the boys’ junior year, and the age difference between Derek and Stiles is about three years. Stiles turns 18 at the end of the fic. Nothing sexual happens before then.

It’s been a pretty quiet couple of weeks, so Stiles isn’t too surprised when a ghost comes sliding through his window. Literally _through_ , because he keeps it closed and locked. It’s a quick and easy way to tell whether someone is corporeal or not.

The ghost leans casually in the corner across from his bed, her arms crossed and her head tilted. “Hey, ghost boy,” she says casually, but there’s something odd about her tone.

“I have a name,” he says, rolling his eyes. But honestly, he prefers working with ghosts like this. The ones that can’t accept their death are a lot more difficult to help. “You can call me Stiles.”

“You sure that’s a name?” she teases, but he can tell her heart’s not in it. “I’m Laura, and I—”

“You need a favor, right? Help with some unfinished business?” he cuts in. The spirits never come just to talk or hang out. They always want something.

“Yes,” she says, unperturbed. “But this one will be a little more interesting than your usual visitations, I’d bet.”

Just last month Stiles had informed a widow that her late husband had stashed all their retirement money in mason jars, then buried each of them in her flowerbed. At the time, she’d thought it was the neighborhood dogs that had been doing the digging. Stiles had stayed to help her uncover them, and listened to all her funny stories about Henry, so he’s not sure he’ll take Laura’s word just yet.

“All right,” he says. “I’m listening.”

 

*

 

 

The first time Stiles talked to a ghost, he was seven years old. He hadn’t realized at first, because to him, ghosts looked just the same as the living. They were just unable to interact with the real world. Which, of course, is where he came in.

He was playing on the nearly-empty school yard in the afternoon, waiting for his mom to come pick him up. While he was rocking on the swings, a grandmotherly woman approached him, asking if he would deliver a message to her granddaughter.

“Sure,” he’d said, scraping his feet to stop his swing. “But why don’t you do it?”

“Oh, honey,” she’d said kindly. “I wish that I could. But it’s too late for me.” She smiles at him then, but she looks so sad. “Come on, I’ll show you where she is.”

They'd walked together across the playground, to where a little girl with long red hair is sitting alone on a bench. She’s crying.

Stiles clears his throat awkwardly. He’s never known what to do when other people are upset. His mom has been crying a lot lately, and he tries to tell her that things will be okay. He doesn’t know what else to do.

But this time, he has help. “I have something to tell you,” he said. “It’s a message from your grandmother.”

The girl looked up then, expression devastated. “Don’t lie to me!” she screamed, and the tears are falling faster now. “Leave me alone,” she spit, jumping up and stomping away.

“Ariel, wait!” Stiles called desperately. “Please!”

The girl stops dead in her tracks, then whirls to face him. “What did you call me?” she asked, looking shocked.

“Ariel. That’s what she said your name was,” Stiles said nervously.

“That was her secret nickname for me,” the girl said, wiping at her cheeks. “My real name is Lydia.” She sniffles quietly, but she doesn’t look very upset anymore. “What else did she say?”

“I, um,” he tries, but the words get tangled in his mouth. When he looks over, the grandmother just nods at him encouragingly. “She wanted me to tell you that she loves you,” he said carefully. “And that she left you something, an early birthday present, in the bottom drawer of your dresser. She said it would help you understand.”

“Okay,” Lydia said. “I’m going to go look right now.” And she hurries away, not looking back.

When Stiles looks around, he realizes the grandmother has disappeared, too.

He and Lydia had been friends for a short time after that, before her desire for popularity and normality had steered her on a wildly different course than his own.

He’d tried, sometimes, to talk to her about her grandmother, about what she left. But Lydia always refused, and Stiles became kind of focused on her, trying to figure her out. Scott had mistaken it for attraction, and it was easy enough to agree, to even let the lie slowly become something like the truth.

 

*

 

Looking up at the burnt-out shell of the old Hale house, Stiles begins to really regret his life choices. Looming over him, the place manages to look both sinister and sad, and maybe even haunted.

It takes all of his courage to climb the creaking porch steps and knock on the door. He swallows thickly as his knuckles rasp on the ash-coated wood. He feels a chill race through him, like he’s walked over someone’s grave.

The door swings open suddenly, revealing a man in a leather jacket glowering at him in a rather intimidating way. “Go away,” he says, almost emotionless. “This is private property.”

Stiles has learned tact, he really has, but it all goes out the window when his brain finally catches up the situation, and he realizes that this is _Derek Hale_. “I have a message from your sister,” he blurts.

“Fuck you,” Derek says bitterly, slamming the door in his face.

“No, wait!” Stiles yells, banging on the door. “I can prove it. She told me you’re a werewolf!”

The door wrenches open so fast, Stiles nearly falls into the house.

“What did you say?” Derek snarls, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him inside.

“Um,” Stiles says, because he sort of gets the feeling he’s being taken to the scene of his own murder. “She told me what I needed to know about your family,” he says faintly, hoping his death will be quick.

Instead of ripping him to little pieces, Derek shoves him down on the remains of a musty old couch. “Start talking,” he growls.

“Well,” Stiles hedges, unsure. He looks over to ghost-Laura, who is sitting on the stairs with her hands curled over her knees. She’s smiling at Derek, but she looks she might cry.

“She said she shouldn’t have come here without you,” Stiles says, his throat tight. “Sorry.”

He can’t bear to look at the way Derek’s face crumples, and instead stares at his shoes while he composes himself.

Talking to the dead can be sad, but talking to those left behind is always so much worse.

After a long pause, Derek starts asking questions of Laura, and Stiles relays her answers for what feels like forever. A lot of it doesn’t make sense, because he only got a crash course in the werewolf lifestyle from Laura. He talks so much, his mouth is dry and his throat aches.

A glance out the broken windows tells him night is falling. “Look,” Stiles says tiredly. “I have to get home. My dad will be freaking out. He’s the _Sherriff_ ,” he emphasizes.

 Derek doesn’t look terribly happy about that information. “We’re not done,” he says threateningly.

“Hey, I can come back tomorrow,” Stiles says, raising his hands, placating. If he has to be here anyway, he’d rather it be of his own free will. “Really. But I have to go.”

Derek gives him a dismissive gesture, and Stiles bolts right out the door. He doesn’t look back until he’s in the jeep.

 

*

 

“Derek!” Stiles yells out the window of the jeep, pulling up close to the porch. “I changed my mind! We’re doing this thing at my house, instead.”

He glances away for half a second, when he looks back Derek is suddenly there, right next to the jeep. He startles so hard he cracks his wrist against the steering wheel. Shit.

“Why.” Derek says, glowering in at him. It’s not even an actual question, it’s more of a demand.

“So we can talk somewhere that isn’t condemned,” he says. “So you can have some of the dinner I’m cooking, and you can even eat it at a real, actual table,” he says, staring Derek down. “Problem?”

He gets glared at long enough that he’s beginning to rethink his plan. But the lure of hot food must be enough, because Derek actually walks around to the passenger side and gets in.

He sort of wants to tell Derek to get out and take his own car, mostly because he’s not totally sure Derek won’t murder him here, in his own jeep.

But he doesn’t want to set back the small amount of progress they’ve made, so he just puts it in drive and heads home.

“Okay,” Stiles says from the kitchen table, tapping his notebook. “This is what I have so far: Your sister was killed for her alpha status, and the werewolf that did it was familiar to her, but she’s not sure who it was.” He taps his pen again. “So now we have a new, rogue alpha out there. What’s his next move?”

Derek crosses his arms and glares across the table. “He’d want more power. And he’d get that by making a pack.”

Stiles feels the blood drain from his face. “My friend Scott got bitten in the woods two nights ago. He said it was a wolf.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “The same night you were out looking for my sister’s body?”

“Uh, yeah. _That_ night.” He straightens. “And Scott said he found her body.”

“He did,” Derek says severely. “So I did I.” He pulls an inhaler out of his pocket and slides it across the table.

“Shit,” Stiles says. “Did you call the police?”

Derek’s expression makes him want to take that question back.

“I buried her according to the traditions of my pack,” Derek says, nearly inflectionless.

“Okay,” Stiles says, deciding to just let that go. “Back to Scott. Is he gonna, like, lose control? The full moon is tonight.”

“He won’t have much control this first shift,” Derek says. “But he can eventually learn.”

“Uh, that’s not good,” Stiles says nervously. “He’s going to a party with the new girl, Allison, tonight.”

Derek nods, looking serious. “I’ll be keeping an eye on him,” he says, standing to leave.

“If you’re going to show up at a high school party,” he says, not letting Derek’s glare deter him, “you should shower and shave here.”

Derek scowls at him, and he thinks maybe Derek is unwilling to lose the grave dirt and ashes of his family that cling to him. But then he turns away and heads to the bathroom, and Stiles lets out a sigh of relief.

“Spare towels are in the closet!” he calls after him, then gets up to wash their dishes.

 

*

 

“Dude, I fought Derek in the woods last night!” Scott says as soon as Stiles answers his phone.

That wakes Stiles right up. “Uh, why?”

“I thought he kidnapped Allison!” Scott says dramatically.

“I told you that he just gave her a ride home. Though he has a creepy lair, he’s not actually a supervillain,” Stiles says calmly, though he wishes he were still sleeping.

“Says you,” Scott huffs. “I’m not convinced. Why does he act so weird?”

“I don’t think it’s on purpose,” Stiles says thoughtfully, feeling sympathetic. He knows well what a person coping with loss looks like. “And honestly, he’s acting better than I would have ever expected. Hell, if I’d just buried the last member of my family, I’m sure I’d be spending my days curled up in a hopeless little ball. He’s actually trying to help you.”

“I guess,” Scott says. “He did help me with the hunters.”

“Okay, you’ve lost me. What are you talking about?”

“There are _werewolf hunters_ here,” Scott says significantly.

“Shit,” Stiles says. “Of course there are.”

“Yeah, they shot me in the arm, but Derek helped me get away. Then he yelled at me,” Scott grumbles.

“They _shot_ you? What the hell?” Stiles says, appalled. “Is that what Derek yelled at you about?”

“No,” Scott sighs, sounding sad. “It was about control. If I lose it, I might end up killing Allison.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Look, Derek is a defeatist, okay? His life has been a series of tragedies, so he probably figures yours will be, too. So just…ignore that part of what he says.”

“Why do I even have to listen to him at all?” Scott whines.

“Because he knows way more about werewolves than either of us. There’s only so much I can get off a google search, man.”

“Fine,” Scott says grudgingly. “I guess you’re right.”

 

*

 

Ghosts only stick around if they have some kind of unfinished business. What that business is, however, varies a lot. Stiles once had a ghost who was desperate for him to find his son’s missing stuffed animal.

And Stiles is the only person in Beacon Hills, as far as he knows, that can actually see the dead, so he tries to help them as best he can. Thankfully, ghosts can’t stray too far from the source of their problem, so he usually doesn’t have to go too far.

One of the wildest visitations he had was from a hitman, who’d showed up and begged Stiles to save the woman he’d been hired to kill. He’d had a change of heart, and her conniving husband, who’d hired him, had murdered him. But it wasn’t too late for Stiles to help her.

He’d tampered with her breaks, he said, and if she drove the car, she was sure to crash.

Stiles had bolted from his room with the mercenary on his heels, yelling out directions. The woman lived only a few miles away, and she’d been walking down her front steps when Stiles pulled up with at screech.

“Hold on, hold on!” he’d shouted as he leaped from the jeep and ran up her driveway. “It’s not safe.”

“What isn’t?” she’d asked, clearly confused by his presence.

“Your car,” he said, and leaned against the door determinedly.

“And how would you know?” she said suspiciously.

“I, uh, saw a man here yesterday. He was messing with your car. And I just realized now that he might have been doing something, uh, sinister,” Stiles said hurriedly.

The lady did not look convinced. “I mostly work from home, I think I would have noticed someone out here,” she said. “I have a meeting to get to, so please step away from my car.”

“Please don’t,” Stiles said when she tried to move past him. “My dad’s the Sheriff, just let me call him, okay?”

He’s dialing the moment she nods.

When his dad shows up, he gives Stiles a stern look, on that says _this better not be a prank_. He tells the deputy with him to check the rest of the car for tampering, then wiggles underneath.

It only takes a moment before he’s scrambling back out. “The lines have definitely been cut,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to take your vehicle in to collect evidence, ma’am,” he continued. “But I can have my deputy give you a ride somewhere, if you need.”

The lady just stared in shock.

Stiles tried not to look smug.

 

*

 

“Dude,” Scott says, flopping dramatically onto Stiles’ bed. “Derek doesn’t want me to play in the game tonight.”

“Well, can you blame him?” Stiles asks drolly. “You haven’t exactly been a poster boy for control. I mean, you almost ate me in the locker room.”

“I did not,” Scott immediately denies. He steals a glance at Stiles’ face and sighs. “Yeah, okay, I was out of control. But he’s not actually helping me at all. He just threatens me and then leaves! How is that useful?”

“He’s going through some shit, so who the fuck knows?” Stiles says, exasperated. “I’ve been helping him communicate with his sister, and I honestly never needed that level of tragedy in my life. Seriously, I try not to think about it.”

“Shit,” Scott says. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says tiredly. He flops down next to Scott, details the relevant, non-sad parts of his latest conversation with Derek.

“Not only that, but I found out today that Allison’s dad is the hunter I saw in the woods,” Scott says.

“No shit? _Chris Argent_?” Stiles says, staring. “That’s really not the best news. And you know he’s going to be at the game tonight, too. You’re going to have to be on your best behavior, or he’s gonna figure it out.”

Scott nods. “Look, I get that it’s dangerous, but I’m gonna play,” he says eventually. “I’m not going to let this ruin my life.”

“It may be too late,” Stiles mumbles. “And I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he says, patting Scott’s shoulder.

 

*

 

The game doesn’t end in tragedy, something for which Stiles is incredibly grateful. Because Chris Argent is there in the stands, clapping and cheering like he’s a normal person. But Stiles knows better.

He can tell that Scott almost loses control at the end, but he sprints off the field before anyone sees.

On his way to the locker room, Stiles tells everyone not to worry, that Scott just has a nervous bladder.

 He expects to find Scott curled up in a corner of the showers, freaking out, but instead he’s making out with Allison.

Of course.

He tries not to be upset about the fact that Scott potentially risked his life in front of the hunters tonight, just so he could impress a girl. After all, they are teenagers, messed up priorities and all. And one of them should be getting some action in the romance department, the thinks, trying not to be bitter.

Personally, his prospects are not the greatest, not in this town. Allison catches him staring moodily, gives him a cheery little wave on her way out.

Great.

 

*

 

Everything’s going pretty well until Derek’s hauled in for questioning. The coroner had run a DNA test on Laura’s partial remains, and it had come back a genetic match. So of course, the first person they’re going to suspect is her shady brother who just rolled into town.

Stiles feels sort of guilty, like he should have been able to warn Derek somehow. He should have known they’d try to ID the body.

Things get even better, by which he means worse, when Scott has a freaky murder dream that turns out to be pretty real after all. Not their best day, that’s for sure.

Still, the police had nothing to hold Derek on, just some questions about why he’s in town and where he’s staying. He’s already been released, so Stiles figures he’s their best bet for finding out if Scott really did almost kill someone on the school bus, like something out of a bad horror film.  

“I can’t believe he’s living here,” Scott whispers as they walk up to the burned-out house.

“I think he was trying to lay low,” Stiles says. “But now the hunters know he’s here, so maybe he’ll move.”

“Doubt it,” Scott grumbles. “This matches his broody vibe too well. Hey, Derek!” he yells. “We need your help!”

Derek appears on the porch, giving them a typically unimpressed look. He listens to Scott ramble, threatens them a little, then tells Scott what he needs to do, if he wants to find out what really happened at the school last night.

“Go back to the scene of the crime?” Scott groans. “Really? Are you trying to get me arrested, too?”

“I wasn’t _there_ ,” Derek growls. “I don’t know what happened. Only you can figure that out, but you have to go back there and re-live it,” he says harshly.

“Okay,” Stiles says quickly, grabbing Scott’s arm and pulling him away. “Thanks for your help, we’ll just be going now,” he calls over his shoulder as he drags Scott back to the jeep.

 

*

 

“Scott remembered,” Stiles tells Derek the next day. “He said he was trying to save the driver from another werewolf.”

“The Alpha,” Derek says grimly.

“Yeah, but why did he want to kill some bus driver? And why was Scott there in the first place?”

“Maybe it was bloodlust. And he probably called Scott there,” Derek says, like that makes some kind of sense.

“What do you mean, called him?” Stiles asks.

“Alphas have a certain measure of control over their betas. So if they howl for them, calling them to the Alpha’s location, the beta has to show up,” Derek explains.

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Stiles mumbles.

“The more control Scott learns, the less power the Alpha will have over him,” Derek says, like he’s trying to be reassuring.

“Right,” Stiles nods. “More werewolf training, stat. He’s got a date with Allison tonight, though,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Derek looks unsurprised, doesn’t even bother dignifying that with a response. “I’m going to the hospital, to see if I can talk to the driver,” he says, heading out the window.

 

*

 

Later, Stiles sneaks into Scott’s bedroom and almost gets smacked by a bat-wielding Melissa, who doesn’t look too happy to see him.

Thankfully, Scott shows up moments later, high on love, or lust, or whatever. Stiles doesn’t really want to know. And he hates to burst his little happiness bubble, but shit happens.

“Look,” he says quietly, in case Scott’s mom is still in the hallway. “I just heard. The driver succumbed to his injuries. He’s dead, Scott.”

“Shit,” Scott says, slumping. “I thought he was going to be okay.”

“Me, too,” Stiles says, nodding. “Derek said he was going to go talk to him, hopefully he found something out.”

“Derek?” Scott says, sounding pissed. “Why is it always about Derek these days? He probably killed the driver, Stiles!”

“Why would he do that?” Stiles huffs, exasperated. “There’s no reason. And he’s the only person we know, honestly, who knows about werewolves and is also _not_ a hunter who wants to kill you. We gotta use the resources we have,” Stiles says, trying not to get angry himself. “And I’m pretty sure Derek hasn’t killed anyone. At all.”

“Let’s go find out, then,” Scott says challengingly.

Apparently his plan is to bust in, tackle Derek, and then repeatedly accuse him of murder, but Stiles vetoes that real quick. “Seriously, dude? Why can’t we just ask him?” he says as he climbs the ash-coated porch steps, trying to stay calm. Scott’s starting to look a little…wolfish.

Then the door flies open, and Derek scowls out at them. “I didn’t kill the bus driver,” he says bitterly.

“Sure,” Scott says, clearly disbelieving.

Stiles shoves Scott, rolling his eyes. “Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?” he asks Derek.

Derek frowns. “I didn’t get much. But he knew who I was. He…he apologized to me,” he says, sounding bewildered.

“Why?” Stiles says.

“I have no idea,” Derek says, shaking his head. “But I intend to find out.”

 

*

 

Stiles had insisted on giving Derek his phone number a few days ago, just for in-case-of-emergency type situations. Derek hadn’t agreed, exactly, but he’d silently handed Stiles his phone when he asked, so Stiles figured that was close enough.

But he’ll be the first to admit that he’d never expected Derek to actually use it. So when his name pops up on his caller ID, it’s such a shock, he almost doesn’t answer in time.

“Derek?” he asks nervously, fumbling the phone to his ear.

“Stiles,” growls out of the speaker. “I need your help.”

“Um, sure,” he says, because he can’t imagine what place Derek would have to be in, mentally, to actually ask for help. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been shot,” Derek hisses down the line.

“What?” Stiles shouts, stopping dead in the middle of the hallway. “By who?”

“The Argents,” Derek says like it’s obvious, and really, they should have been Stiles’ first guess.

“Well, no big deal, right? Aren’t you healing?” he asks, and starts walking toward the parking lot again.

“I can’t,” Derek gasps out. “They shot me with a special bullet, and it’s poisoning me.”

“Shit. Okay, where are you?” he says, because Derek really doesn’t sound too good.

“Almost to your jeep,” Derek says.

“What?” Stiles yelps. School’s just ended, the parking lot’s going to be _packed_ , someone’s bound to notice him. “I’ll be right there,” he says, hanging up and breaking into a sprint.

Derek had sounded terrible over the phone, but he actually looks much worse in person. He’s hunched over against the side of Stiles’ jeep, drawn and pale, and as he watches Derek’s eyes flicker bright, electric blue.

“Get in, get in,” he hisses, pulling open the passenger door. “Come on, before someone sees you.” It seems more and more likely, as he sees several people already looking their way.

Derek spares him a very bitter look, but manages to get himself inside.

“Keep your head down,” he whispers, then slams the door and jogs to the bike rack to catch Scott.

He’s getting pretty tired of having these hushed, secretive conversations in the middle of public places, but right now he really doesn’t have a choice.

When Scott shows up a moment later, he rehashes the whole _Derek-got-shot_ situation, and gets a bad feeling when Scott’s eyes widen. “That’s what she meant,” he mumbles.

“That’s what who meant?” Stiles asks, exasperated. Scott really needs to get better at keeping him in the loop.

“Kate, she’s the one who shot him. She was with Allison’s dad last night. I think she was after the Alpha, but she ended up hitting Derek instead. She said he had forty-eight hours,” Scott says. “At most.”

Well, that’s not ominous at all, because Derek looks awful, and it’s been nowhere near forty-eight hours. He could be dead in Stiles’ front seat right now, but god, he really hopes not. How would he explain that to his dad?

“We gotta figure out what kind of bullet it was,” Stiles says, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “And by me I mostly mean you. You’ll be at Allison’s house this afternoon, I know you have a study date. So this is the perfect opportunity for you to figure out what it was.”

“Okay,” Scott says, but he doesn’t look very happy about it. “What are you going to do with Derek?”

“Hell if I know,” Stiles says.

 

*

 

“Where are we?” Derek asks when he’s finally conscious again. He looks even worse, if that’s possible.

“Parked at the edge of the preserve,” Stiles says, idly tapping the edge of the steering wheel. “Waiting for Scott to figure this out.”

“I’m so relieved,” Derek says, with what appears to be all the sarcasm he can muster.

“Ha,” Stiles says, trying not to feel the pressure of a ticking clock hanging over him. He checks his phone again. Nothing. “Be honest with me, are you dying?” Because Derek looks kind of waxy now, almost gray, and Stiles has genuine concerns about him becoming a corpse.

“Not yet,” Derek says tiredly.

“Not really the answer I wanted,” Stiles sighs. “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being—”

“Stiles!” Derek hisses, “Stop talking.” He tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the festering bullet wound near his elbow. Thick black streaks spread away from it, like death is creeping up his arm, slowly but surely.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, wanting to look closer but also kind of wanting to vomit. It’s worse than he imagined, and the acrid smell emanating from it is not helping. “Is the bullet still in there? Why don’t you just cut it out?”

“No,” Derek says. “It’s not the bullet itself, it’s whatever was in it. It’s poisoning me.”

“Shit,” Stiles says, throwing his head back against the seat rest. This is more dire than he anticipated.

“Is he at the Argents’?” Derek asks tiredly, listing toward the window.

“Yeah. I wish I could say finding the bullet was his number one priority, but you haven’t exactly made a great impression with him,” Stiles says. “And when it comes to a contest between you or Allison, she’s always going to win.”

Derek mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _dramatic teenage romance_ , and rolls his eyes.

“You know what?” he says, straightening. “I’m gonna call him.”

 

*

 

Stiles hated his powers the most when he was sitting alone in the hospital hallway, trembling and trying to pretend he wasn’t scared. His dad had rushed in the room on the heels of the doctor, telling Stiles to be good and stay put.

Suddenly noise erupted, clearly audible through the closed door, sounds of yelling and machines beeping and things being slammed together.

But then it’s suddenly, heavily quiet, and he can hear the doctor solemnly reading out the time.

He drifts for a moment, staring at his watch. The next thing he’s aware of is a soft, “Honey?”

He looks up to find his mother, standing across the hallway from him, looking stricken.

“Oh, honey,” she says, kneeling down next to him. “I’m so sorry,” she says, reaching out as though to touch his cheek. She stops short though, doesn’t quite manage contact.

Stiles knows he’s crying, his vision so blurry he can hardly see her, but he can’t stop the tears.

“None of this is your fault, okay?” she says. “And I wanted to make sure you know that I love you, and I always will.” She’s already looking fainter, almost insubstantial. “I can’t stay much longer. You need to look after your dad,” she says, smiling softly. “But this is the important part—you need to let him take care of you, too. He loves you so much, and I need you to remember that.”

“Okay, mom,” he says, his voice wavering. He rubs at the tears dripping off his chin and tries to say something else, but his throat is so tight, he can’t quite do it. He’s afraid he’ll start sobbing instead.

“Your dad is going to come out of that room in a minute, and I need you to give him a hug for me.” She reaches out, and he can almost feel her fingers running through his hair one last time. “Remember what I said, okay? I love you, Stiles.”

Then she’s gone.

His dad finds him curled up in the hallway, sobbing, and scoops him up into his arms. “I guess you already know, huh?” he says quietly. “I’m so sorry, son.”

Stiles throws his arms around his dad’s neck and just cries harder.

 

*

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, hanging up the phone. “Scott says to take you to the animal clinic while we wait.”

“He hasn’t found the bullet yet?” Derek rasps.

“No. Apparently the Argents have a whole arsenal of weapons, and it’s making him nervous,” Stiles says.

“Of course they do,” Derek says dryly. “They’re hunters.”

“Anyway,” Stiles says, starting the jeep and pulling out. “He’s working on it, he should figure it out soon.”

“Famous last words,” Derek says grimly. There’s a long pause. “You have a lot of faith in him.”

It’s not a question, but it almost sounds like one.

Stiles ignores it, and just accelerates faster. Scott better hurry the hell up, he thinks, glancing at Derek. If he doesn’t, they’re going to have another dead body on their hands.

He’s just unlocked the door to the clinic when the text from Scott comes through. “Hey,” he calls to Derek, who’s slumped over on some bags of dog food in the storage room. “Does monkshood mean anything to you?”

“It’s a rare form of wolfsbane,” Derek says, levering himself back up and promptly staggering into a wall. “He needs to bring it here.”

“What, the bullet?” Stiles asks, pulling out his phone to text Scott back. “Okay.” He pushes open the door through the kennel, ushering Derek through.

“If he doesn’t bring it, I’ll die,” Derek says heavily.

“I hate to ask, but you’re not looking too great,” Stiles says. “So, what if he doesn’t make it back in time?”

Derek lists into an exam room, heads toward a set of cabinets. “I have a plan B,” he says.

“I have a bad feeling about that,” Stiles says nervously. “But you might as well tell me anyway.”

And then his whole night really goes to shit, because Derek starts digging through one of the drawers and pulls out a fucking bone-cutting saw.

“Oh, hell no,” he says immediately.

Derek comes over, giving him a sharp little grin. “You faint at the sight of blood?” he taunts, setting the saw down on the exam table, right next where he’s leaning.

“Not really, but I might be at the sight of your _severed arm_ ,” Stiles hisses, feeling a little queasy already.

Derek looks waxy pale now, like there’s no blood left in his body. And that’s before he leans over and starts retching up something thick and black and vile smelling. Stiles tries hard not to gag.

“What the hell is that?” he says thickly, trying to breathe only through his mouth. He grabs a scoop of kitty litter and sprinkles it over the puke, and it cuts the smell substantially.

“My body is trying to fight the poison,” Derek gasps, leaning most of his weight against the table.

“Obviously it’s failing,” Stiles says, cautiously approaching Derek. “You need to sit down before you fall down,” he says firmly, as though he has any real authority in this situation.

Surprisingly, Derek actually complies, without any glaring or anything. Stiles expects him to sit in one of the chairs, but instead he heaves himself up on the exam table. He sits there for a moment, shuddering, before grabbing the hem of his shirt and dragging it over his head.

While he’s occupied, Stiles tries to discreetly edge the bone saw out of his sight. He might not have to go through with it, if he can distract Derek enough to make him forget he’s dying horrifically.

Yeah, no chance.

His phone buzzes before he can open his mouth. He glances at the screen, feels a tendril of relief course through him. “Scot’s on his way, it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Derek doesn’t respond. He’s got his head dipped down, his arms braced out to either side. He looks like someone who’s accepted the inevitable.

It’s probably the worst timing ever, but Stiles has never been good at social niceties. “I think you should know,” he says, then hesitates. He’s not sure he should tell Derek, besides, if Scott doesn’t _hurry up_ , it won’t even matter. Derek might be reuniting with his entire dead family very soon.

“Know what?” Derek asks, so low it almost sounds like a growl.

Stiles seriously hates giving bad news, and Derek is probably the person who least needs it, but he might as well follow through now. “It’s your sister,” he says nervously. The quicker he says this, the better. “She’s fading, she’s almost gone.”

“Gone?” Derek says tiredly, brow crinkling. “She’s already dead.” One of his arms buckles, and he sways sideways before righting himself.

“Her unfinished business is done,” Stiles says quietly. “She can’t stay here much longer. She keeps saying goodbye to you. I’m sorry, Derek.”

Derek looks like he’s trying not show how devastated he feels, but Stiles can tell. He manages to nod. “She got to say what she needed to say to me, and that’s what matters.”

Stiles swallows again, feeling sick. This is awful, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about it. For a moment he wishes he could do more than talk to ghosts. He wishes he had real power.

He startles when Derek sways to the side again. This time he doesn’t try to stop himself, just slowly collapses down onto the table. He stretches his arm out toward Stiles, allowing him to see how much worse the wound looks. The thick black lines of poison trace almost to the top of Derek’s shoulder, stark against his pale skin.

“You need to do it now,” Derek says.

“But Scott—” Stiles tries.

“Is riding a _bike_ , and might still be in Allison’s driveway,” Derek says bitterly. “If it gets to my heart, I’ll die for sure. You have to do it.”

For someone who’s lost literally everything, Derek has a surprisingly strong will to live.

“Okay,” he says weakly, grabbing an elastic band to tie off Derek’s arm, up as high as he can get. His hands are slippery with sweat, and he has to try it a couple of times before he gets it tight enough. He wants to keep stalling, long enough that he doesn’t have to do this, but he also doesn’t want Derek to _die_ , so there’s just no winning.

He reaches for the saw.

It’s heavy in his hands, and the first whirr of the blade makes him jump, and he almost drops it. He desperately does not want to do this.

“Okay,” he says, mostly for himself. “Okay.”

He starts the saw up again, brings it close to the constricted skin of Derek’s arm. It’s going to be a lot to cut through, and the thought brings a wave of nausea so powerful that he’s afraid he’ll pass out.

He blinks the black spots from his visions, and slowly brings the whirring blade down, down…

“I got it,” Scott yells, bursting through the door triumphantly.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles says, releasing the power button on the saw and letting it clatter to the floor. “You just saved me a lifetime of therapy.”

 

*

 

Thankfully, Derek knows exactly what to do, but he passes out almost immediately after jamming burnt wolfsbane into his wound.

Stiles hunches over him where he’s collapsed on the floor, shaking his shoulder urgently. “Derek? Are you okay?” he says, over and over, until Derek stirs. He feels so relieved when his eyes blink open, it’s hard to resist hugging him.

And really, he could use a hug right now, because he can still feel himself trembling.

“No thanks to him,” Derek rasps, glaring at Scott.

“I just saved your life!” Scott yells, outraged.

“And it would have been saved a lot faster if you hadn’t been on a play-date with the _hunter’s daughter_ ,” Derek says, with that barely-contained rage he’s so good at. “You can’t tell me I was your first priority.”

“I was—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Derek hisses, pushing himself up off the floor. “I can hear your heart. You think that just because you had nice little family dinner with them, they won’t kill you when they find out you’re a werewolf?”

“You don’t know that,” Scott says, crossing his arms. “And they seem a lot nicer than you.”

“Can we just—” Stiles breaks in, trying to mediate.

“No,” Derek says sharply, glaring at him too. “You want to see how nice the Argents really are? Then come with me,” he says, grabbing his shirt and storming out of the clinic.

 

*

 

“Where are we?” Stiles asks, craning around the front seat of the Camaro, trying to see. Since he’d wanted to come along, he’d ended up having to sit in the back.  

“Beacon’s Crossing,” Scott says, squinting at the sign. “We’re at the nursing home?” he asks, getting out of the car and pulling his seat forward.

Stiles crawls out and stumbles after Derek, who’s already on his way to the front door. They follow him down several dimly-lit hallways and then into a patient’s room.

“The Argents did this,” Derek says bitterly, revealing a badly burned, catatonic man in a wheelchair. “It’s my uncle Peter. He’s the only one who survived them burning my family alive.”

Scott stares at Peter in horror. “How do you know it was the Argents?”

“They were the only ones who knew about us,” Derek says angrily.

“So they had a reason,” Scott muses.

Stiles’ mouth drops open, because _seriously?_

Derek beats him to it, though.

“There is no justification for murder!” Derek snarls, and his rage is definitely not contained now. “They killed my _entire family_ , just because some of us were werewolves.” He’s breathing heavily now. “How would you feel, Scott? How would you feel, if your mother and Stiles and the Sheriff and everyone you cared about were killed, just because you were a werewolf?”

Scott just stares, looking terrified.

“Think about it,” Derek says bitterly. “Think about how it would feel to lose everything.”

He walks away.

 

*

 

“So,” Stiles says, when the silence has stretched on and Scott still seems rooted to the ground. “That was more awful than even I was expecting.” He grabs Scott’s arm, drags him out of the room and into the hallway.

“Stiles!” Scott says, finally reacting. “I’m—”

“Nope,” Stiles says, cutting him off. “I need you to hear me out. You need to work with Derek.”

Scott open his is mouth again, but Stiles glares, slashing his hand through the air in warning. Scott closes his mouth.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to trust him. I’m not even saying you have to like him,” Stiles sighs, suddenly tired. “Just let him be your werewolf mentor, or whatever.”

Scott huffs, crossing his arms. “His advice has mostly been to break up with Allison.”

“Not everything is about her,” Stiles says, exasperated. “Do you want to become a killing machine like the Alpha?”

“No,” Scott says grudgingly.

“Well, I don’t want you to, either,” Stiles says. “And neither does Derek, we all have that in common. One murder-wolf is more than enough for this town.”

That gets Scott to crack a smile, and makes Stiles feel a little lighter, too.

 

*

 

Despite the fact that Scott continues to assure him that he’ll work with Derek, Stiles is pretty sure the case has gone cold. Because if a very motivated born-werewolf can’t sniff the Alpha out, how does he expect Scott to be able to find him?

He’s trying to help out as much as he can, but being the token human means he’s pretty limited on information.

He gets a break, though, while he’s eating dinner with his dad in the squad car. The radio buzzes to life, and Stiles grabs for it eagerly.

His dad slaps his hand away, takes the call from dispatch himself.

“A murder?” Stiles squawks, his mouth still stuffed full of curly fries.

“You’re staying in the car,” his dad says, flipping on the lights and pulling out.

“Sure, sure,” Stiles mumbles, hurriedly gulping down the rest of his food. It’s not like he’s going to let it go to waste.

His dad side-eyes him, but doesn’t say anything.

“A video store?” Stiles says in disbelief when they pull up. “Who gets murdered in a video store?”

His dad doesn’t justify that with a response.

Stiles clears his throat. “Surely it wouldn’t hurt to look around?”

The Sheriff gives him a long look. “Stay here,” he says firmly, then slams the door and walks toward the scene.

Stiles manages to do just that for three whole minutes, which he feels is commendable. But then he spots Jackson and Lydia, and his hand is on the door handle before he can even think about it.

He leans halfway out of the car, trying to get a better look. Lydia looks upset, scared, but Jackson, unsurprisingly, just looks pissed. And as soon as the Sheriff walks over, Jackson starts yelling insults and making threats.

Stiles bursts all the way out of the car, ready to give Jackson a piece of his mind, when he spots the coroner wheeling out a covered gurney. Must be the murder victim. “Hey, is that a dead body?” his mouth loudly says, entirely without his permission.

His dad gives him an unimpressed look, and Jackson gives him a hard stare before going right back to whining about wanting to go home.

He really must not have seen anything, because he doesn’t seem affected at all, just inconvenienced. Lydia, on the other hand…

 

*

 

“Hey, I got something that might be useful,” Stiles says as soon as Scott picks up. “A guy got murdered at the video store tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says. “I was there.”

“Where?” Stiles asks, surprised. “I didn’t see you.”

“I was on the roof,” Scott says nonchalantly. “With Derek.”

“You finally started working with him, then.”

“Yeah, but only on like, probation,” Scott says, not sounding too thrilled.

“Provisionally,” Stiles corrects. “I’m glad.”

“Whatever,” Scott huffs. “Anyway, it was definitely the Alpha. I actually caught his scent this time.”

“So you can help Derek find him, then?” Stiles asks eagerly.

“Hopefully. Derek said we only have until the full moon. By then, I either have to kill with him, as an initiation, or.” There’s silence down the line.

“Or what?” Stiles eventually prompts.

“Or he kills me,” Scott says grimly.

“Shit,” Stiles says feelingly. “The full moon’s not far away.”

“I know,” Scott sighs. “Man, I miss being a boring old high school loser. I’m not ready to be in these life or death situations,” he says quietly.

“It’s almost like you’re cursed,” Stiles says, fingers clenching helplessly around the phone. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. But I’m glad you’re here,” Scott says. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I had to deal with this alone.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, suddenly wishing he was talking to Scott in person, so he could reach out, really be there for him. “You know I’ll always be there,” he says firmly.

“I’d hope so. You _are_ my best friend,” he says, and Stiles can hear him smiling. Then there’s a heavy sigh. “But I gotta go. I’m failing chemistry and I really need to study.”

“I’m pretty sure Harris is out for both of us,” Stiles says bitterly. “Let me know if you need any help, okay?”

He waits for Scott’s affirmative grunt before he hangs up.

He needs to figure out his next move.

 

*

 

Stiles would love to do this any other time, but he’s not going to practice after school today, so he has to do this now. This is the only class he has with Danny, and he needs answers.

Not only that, but Scott is skipping school to spend the day with Allison, so he doesn’t even have any back up.

Apparently he’s the only one interested in solving this fucking mystery.

“Danny,” he hisses, half out of his seat. He’s got to do this quick, or Harris will just move him to the other side of the room. “Was Lydia in class with you this morning?”

Danny gives him an entirely unimpressed look. “She wasn’t,” he says, turning away.

“Do you know what happened to her and Jackson last night?” he whispers, leaning closer.

Danny looks back again with an irritated scowl, then sighs. “He wouldn’t tell me,” he mutters.

Stiles’ legs are starting to burn. “He wouldn’t tell you?” he says incredulously. “Aren’t you guys best friends?”

And it looks like he pushed it too far. Danny gives him a sour look and turns his back, shoulders hunched.

The gesture reminds him of someone, gives him an odd sense of déjà vu. “Hey, Danny,” he whispers, thinking about his chances. “Am I attractive to gay guys?”

His legs give out before Danny can say anything.

That’s okay. He doesn’t need to know the answer to that question. He doesn’t.

Really.

 

*

 

He calls Scott on the way to Lydia’s house, and discovers he’s still out in the woods with Allison. Seriously, what the hell have they been doing all day?

Oh god, he hopes they haven’t been having sex out there. He tries not to think about it.

“Scott, man, now is not the time for this,” he groans. “You gotta do something. Two people have died already, we have to figure this out.”

“I know, I know,” Scott says. He drops his voice, so low that Stiles can barely hear him. “I just need a little time, okay? It’s really nice out here, just me and her…”

“I don’t need to know,” Stiles says hurriedly, before Scott can get too dreamy. “I’m going to see if I can find anything out. You know, contribute to solving this mystery,” he says, parking in front of Lydia’s house. “Scott?”

He gets nothing but a dial tone.

Lydia turns out to be equally unhelpful. “A mountain lion,” she says woozily. “Definitely a mountain lion.”

“Seriously?” Stiles huffs. “What the hell did you take?”

She doesn’t answer, and when he gently shakes her, she doesn’t respond. Out cold. He’s just about to leave when a notification pops up on her phone. And Stiles, well, he’s always been a little bit nosey.

The video is so startling he almost drops it, and immediately jams the phone into his pocket, desperate to hide it.

Shit. He has to call someone.

 

*

 

What do you do when you find an incriminating werewolf video on someone’s phone? You call your werewolf best friend for advice, of course.

And of course, he doesn’t answer.

They’re probably still out in the woods, he reminds himself. Scott’s phone could be dead. There aren’t any phone chargers or outlets in the woods. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, but it doesn’t negate the fact that he needs to talk to Scott. Who he calls another five times. Just in case.

Also, for a guy who was just at the scene of a murder last night, and who got bitten in the preserve before that, he doesn’t seem too worried about hanging out in the woods all day.

So what do you do when you have incriminating werewolf video and your werewolf best friend isn’t answering his phone? You call the only other werewolf you know, of course.

Derek doesn’t answer either.

Stiles is really beginning to wonder about his luck, and other people’s priorities. He’s just about to go outside and run a lap or something, anything to try to get rid of the anxiety he’s building up, when his dad opens the door. In his current state of mind, Stiles cannot imagine what he wants.

He tries to subtly nudge Lydia’s phone out of view.

“Am I going to hear good news at this parent-teacher conference tonight?” his dad asks.

Well, that explains it.

“Depends on how you define _good_ ,” Stiles says. He’s betting he and his dad are defining it pretty differently these days. At this point, he would consider someone actually calling him back to be good news indeed.

“Good grades,” his dad elaborates. “And no behavior issues.”

No behavior issues? Has his dad actually met him? “Might want to rethink that definition,” he says. His grades are good, at least.

His dad nods sternly, and thankfully decides to let it go, making his retreat. He’ll be heading over to the school soon, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t have to attend the conference, because he’s not failing anything, but Scott…

He’s in the middle of a long diatribe to Scott’s voicemail, threatening murder and warning him that he’ll probably be permanently grounded if he ever comes out of the woods, when Derek Hale opens his window and climbs in.

He’s sweaty and shirtless and glaring, and it’s really quite a shock.

“Call me back,” Stiles says distractedly into the phone, hanging up.

Derek just stands there, panting a little, his arms crossed over his chest. Stiles didn’t think werewolves could even get out of breath.

“Dude, what the hell?” he says, when he feels like he’s been staring too long. “Why didn’t you answer my call?”

“I was a little busy,” Derek growls bitterly.

And now that he’s looking at more than Derek’s abs, he can see that something’s definitely wrong. Derek looks upset, almost scared. He looks _hunted_.

They’re not really close enough to friendship just yet, so Stiles doesn’t ask about it. Whatever it is, it probably has something to do with why Derek’s shirtless. Because despite his remarkable physique, he doesn’t really seem the type to run half-naked through the suburban streets.

But Derek’s starting to look a little less freaked out now that he’s here, and Scott still hasn’t called him back, so Stiles focuses right back up.

“Check this out,” he says, grabbing Lydia’s phone and plopping down on the bed.

He looks up expectantly, and sure enough, Derek comes over and sits carefully down next to him. Despite the fact that Derek has clearly been running and is quite sweaty, he smells…weirdly good. Like a warm, musky forest smell. It’s strangely heady, and Stiles starts trying to subtly breathe through his mouth.

“That’s not your phone,” Derek says abruptly, his brow crinkling.

“Nope, it’s Lydia’s,” Stiles says, pulling up the video.

“You stole her phone?” Derek asks, eyebrow raised.

“Temporarily acquired,” Stiles corrects promptly. “Look, I went to her house to try and find out what she saw. But she’d taken some medicine, and I thought I was out of luck.”

Derek makes a non-committal sound, then says, “I talked to Jackson. He claims he didn’t see anything.”

“By ‘talked to’ do you mean ‘intimidated’?” Stiles asks, quirking an eyebrow. “You think he’s lying?”

“Not exactly,” Derek says, scowling. “He didn’t see enough to be useful, but he saw enough to be freaked out. Obviously something happened to him.”

“Well, he did see a dead body,” Stiles says reasonably. “That’s not a normal occurrence for most people.”

“I’m going to keep an eye on him,” is all Derek says.

Stiles clears his throat. “Anyway, this is what I wanted to show you,” he says, pressing play on the video.

Derek tenses up immediately. “Delete it,” he says. “That’s the Alpha. No one else can see this.”

“I figured,” Stiles says. “I had no idea he’d be this big, he looks like a fucking bear.” He waves the phone toward Derek. “Does this help any?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” Derek says. “But his actions are definitely drawing the attention of the hunters,” he says, his expression grim.

Stiles waits, because he feels like Derek is about to say something important, and he can be patient if he needs to be. He can.

“They came to the house,” Derek says quietly. “Kate and some of the others. Came to ask me who the Alpha is,” he spits.

Judging by the way Derek says _ask_ , Stiles is betting it wasn’t a polite conversation.

“When I couldn’t tell her,” he continues, the bitterness really starting to come through. “She tried to kill me.”

Derek must have run straight here.

No wonder he’d looked so frightened.

Stiles has been meaning to say something, and now seems as good a time as ever.

“They know exactly where to find you. Have you considered,” he says carefully, “maybe staying somewhere else?”

Because lingering in the place where the greatest tragedy in your life occurred can’t be the healthiest thing.  Sometimes he imagines Derek curled up with the ashes of his family in that burnt out old house, and has to take a breather, go do something, because the enormity of his pain is difficult to comprehend. He’s a little afraid Derek’s going to die of bitter loneliness before they even find the Alpha.

It might also be because he cares.

Maybe more than he should.

Derek gives him a long look, his mouth pinched, and Stiles begins to worry that he’s overstepped.

“I’ll think about it,” Derek finally says, his tone completely neutral.

He’s out the window before Stiles can say anything else.

 

*

 

Scott finally calls him back.

“Dude!” he says, as soon as Stiles answers. “You’re never gonna believe what happened!”

“That you didn’t return my repeated phone calls, and that you also missed the parent-teacher conference? No, I totally believe it,” Stiles snarks.

“Not that,” Scott says, sounding guilty. “Some shit went down in the school parking lot. And your dad got hit by a car,” he says, offhand.

“What!” Stiles squawks, out of his chair in an instant. “Why wouldn’t you lead with that first?”

“He’s fine, the car was only going like two miles an hour,” Scott says placating. “That’s not the important part.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Stiles objects, all his previous anger welling back up. “What the hell happened out there?”

“There was a wild animal prowling around in the parking lot. A _mountain lion_ ,” Scott says significantly.

“Like a real, actual mountain lion? Bet that caused mass chaos,” Stiles says, interested despite himself. “What happened to it?”

“Allison’s dad shot it dead, right there in the parking lot,” Scott says.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes.

“Yeah. But what do you think? I mean, we know those other attacks weren’t a mountain lion,” Scott says.

Stiles mulls that over for a minute. “Seems kind of convenient, doesn’t it? All this talk of animal attacks, and everyone’s guessing it’s a mountain lion. Then one just happens to show up in the school parking lot? Seems pretty suspicious to me.”

“You think the Alpha did it?”

“He certainly could have driven the mountain lion out of the woods, he’s big enough and creepy enough to do it. And that might throw the authorities off his trail,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, for sure,” Scott says. “Wait a minute, how do you know what the Alpha looks like?”

“That’s a story for when I’m not mad at you,” Stiles says, and promptly hangs up.

 

*

 

Stiles startles badly when Scott suddenly appears in his bedroom window.

“Dude, what the hell?” he flails, as Scott climbs in. “Why can’t you werewolves just use the door?” he demands, then takes a deep calming breath and straightens up on the bed.

“I gotta tell you what happened,” Scott says, and he sounds kind of breathless himself. “I was at Allison’s house—” Stiles makes an appropriate expression of shock—“and I saw the Alpha!”

“Wait, really? What happened?” Stiles asks eagerly, scooting to the end of the bed. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing Scott critically.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Scott says, slumping down in Stiles’ desk chair.

“Not that I don’t love your company,” Stiles says, smirking, “but why didn’t you just call me?”

“I would have, but Derek broke my phone,” Scott huffs, indignant.

“Why? I thought you guys were working together.”

“He told me I was too distracted. He sneak-attacked me in a parking garage,” Scott says sullenly.

“Well, it’s not like the Alpha is going to give you a heads-up, or anything,” Stiles says reasonably. “He’s just trying to prepare you.”

“He didn’t have to break my phone, though,” Scott says petulantly.

“Whatever,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “It was a shitty phone anyway.”

“Yeah, but—”

“What happened with the Alpha?” Stiles asks, trying to focus on the important part of the conversation.

“Yeah, what happened?” Derek says, appearing in the still-open window.

“What the hell?” Scott says, jerking backward in surprise. “Are you psychic now?”

“Of course not,” Derek says.

“He was coming over here anyway,” Stiles says.

“Uh, why?” Scott asks, looking between them with an odd expression.

“To shower,” Stiles says.

“For food,” Derek says.

“For various reasons,” Stiles says when Scott continues to stare.

“Right, sure,” Scott says, sounding anything but. “Anyway, the Alpha showed up outside Allison’s house, right after I got in my car. Actually, I thought at first that it was you, attacking me again,” Scott says accusingly to Derek.

“And?” Stiles says, trying to get to the point. “Did he say something? Threaten you?”

“He looked like a giant bear,” Scott huffs. “Of course he didn’t say anything.”

“Well, did you get an impression?” Derek asks. “Some kind of feeling?”

“ _Feeling?_ ” Scott repeats, nose wrinkling. “I guess he felt…angry. Especially when he drew that spiral in the condensation on my window,” he continues distantly, clearly remembering.

Derek’s whole posture suddenly changes, and Stiles zeros right in on it. “What is it? What does that mean?” he asks quickly.

Derek looks away, brows pinched and mouth drawn down. “You don’t want to know,” he mutters.

Stiles looks at Scott, who seems totally unwilling to pursue it, and possibly ready to just leave. “We clearly want to know,” he says anyway. “You can’t expect us to help you if you keep stuff from us.” And guilt-tripping someone like Derek is probably the worst thing ever, but he needs to _know_.

Derek glances at Scott, then sits down on the bed next to Stiles. “It’s a symbol to werewolf packs,” he says tiredly. “It signifies a vendetta. Revenge.”

“Shit,” Stiles says. “No wonder he’s going around killing people.”

“And it’s going to keep happening,” Derek says, giving Scott a significant look. “We have to stop him.”

“If you want there to be a ‘we,’ then you need to start treating us like equals,” Scott says, and then he’s gone out the window.

If nothing else, he’s been learning dramatic exits from Derek.

“He does have a point,” Stiles says, glancing at Derek and then away again. “You could try trusting us a little more.” He sighs. “And did you really have to break his phone?”

“This is life or death, and he _wasn’t paying attention_ ,” Derek says shortly, hands clenched on his knees.

“That’s fair,” Stiles says. “But you gotta understand, Scott’s never really had anything bad happen to him in his life. I mean, his dad left, but he was too young to really remember.” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair, trying to think of how to explain.

When he glances over he finds Derek watching him intently, the tension gone from his body.

“All of this stuff is happening at once,” Stiles continues. “He got turned into a werewolf, he’s experiencing his first love, _and_ has some rabid murder-alpha after him. Which of those things would you want to focus on?”

Derek nods, solemn, and Stiles wonders at his ability to be empathetic despite everything he’s lost.

“So we’re all going to have to work together,” Stiles says. “What are the things Scott needs to learn?”

“Control of the shift is most important,” Derek says. “These are the keys to controlling it,” he continues, and Stiles grabs a piece of paper and starts taking notes.

 

*

 

“Derek says its anger,” Stiles tells Scott the next day. “If you can control your anger, you can control the shift.”

“So I gotta be like the hulk?” Scott asks, grinning.

“Yeah, I guess. We gotta practice getting you angry, so you can learn to control it. And since I’m still pissed at you, that should be easy.”

“I said I was sorry about your dad!” Scott says, looking at him sadly. “I mean it. It won’t ever happen again.”

“It better not!” Stiles says, jabbing him in the chest. “Not ever. Anyway, you need to find something that helps you to calm down, keeps your anger in check. That has to be your anchor. That way you won’t shift if you don’t intend to.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott says. “I’ll try to figure it out. But I don’t just shift when I’m angry,” he says, flushing. “Sometimes, with Allison…”

“Well, it’s kind of a similar reaction,” Stiles says. “What happens to your body when you get angry? Your pulse goes up, you get a spike of adrenaline, your skin flushes… Same stuff happens when you get turned on, too.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Actually, Derek might be wrong. It might be your heart rate that’s the most important thing to control.”

“You’re getting a plan aren’t you?” Scott sighs.

“Yep. Meet me on the field during free period.”

“I’m not going to like this plan, am I?”

“Probably not,” Stiles says cheerfully. “But we gotta get you ready to face the Alpha, so time is of the essence!”

 

*

 

“It’s definitely Allison,” Scott says excitedly as they walk out to the lacrosse field. “She’s definitely my anchor.”

“Dude, I know. I was there,” Stiles says, tossing his bag down and digging through it. “And good thing she was right there, because you wolfing out in Economics would not have been great.”

“Yeah, she just held my hand and I calmed right down,” Scott says happily. “Hey, what are we doing out here?”

“You’ll see,” Stiles says. “Here, put this on.”

“Is this Coach’s heart rate monitor?” Scott asks, taking it warily.

“They’re for the track team,” Stiles says dismissively. “This, on the other hand, is Coach’s phone,” he says, waving it casually. “And under the circumstances, I really don’t feel too bad about taking it.”

Scott nods in agreement. “He was being kind of a dick to me, more so than usual. So, what’s the plan?” he asks, securing the monitor around his chest.

“You’re going to stand over there, and I’m going to throw lacrosse balls at you. Your job is to stay calm and think about Allison.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Which shouldn’t be too difficult for you, I’m pretty sure you think about her all the time.”

“Kind of like the way you think about Derek?” Scot asks, eyebrows raised.

Stiles lobs a ball at him.

 

*

 

“Are you done being mad at me?” Scott asks as they leave detention. “I mean, you used me for target practice and you got me beat up! Isn’t that enough?” he asks, puppy dog eyes in full force.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “You’re forgiven. And you did really well today, you’re really improving your control.”

“I was thinking about that. I don’t shift when she’s around, but what if I need to? What if she’s my weakness, instead?”

Stiles bites his lip a moment, thinking. “Dude, you’re making too big a deal out of this. She’s not going to make you weak,” he says, shaking his head. “Anger is the key. Just get mad, and don’t think about Allison. Too easy.”

Scott visibly brightens.

“And this whole thing where you rely on her for control is probably temporary. I think it’ll eventually be like muscle memory, and you’ll be able to change without really needing to think about it.”

“You’re saying Allison is like my training wheels?” Scott asks, laughing.

“I guess, yeah,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I gotta head home.”

“I am going to put this,” Scott says, holding up the heartrate monitor, “along with the phone, back in Coach’s office.” He glances at his watch. “And then I gotta get to work. Shit!”

He jogs off before Stiles can offer to do it for him.

 

*

 

Derek is waiting outside Stiles’ house when he pulls up.

“Where have you been?” Derek demands as soon as he’s stepped out of the jeep.

“Detention,” Stiles replies. “What’s wrong?”

“Get in,” Derek says sharply, sliding into the Camaro. “I’ll explain on the way.”

He shoves a piece of paper at Stiles as soon as he’s in, and pulls away from the curb.

“What is this?” Stiles asks as he buckles his seatbelt. He unfolds the paper, and his eyes widen. “I remember this,” he says, looking at the picture of a deer with a spiral cut into its side. “Dad thought it was the work of a cult or something.”

“Definitely not,” Derek says. “It had to be the Alpha.”

“Where’d you get this?” Stiles asks, turning the paper over, looking for more clues. This had happened months ago, and he’s pretty sure no culprits were ever found.

“It was left on the windshield of my car,” Derek growls, and he’s wearing that freaked out expression again.

“You think the Alpha did that, too?” Stiles asks curiously, folding the paper back up.

“I don’t know,” Derek says. “When I came out of Beacon’s Crossing, it was just there.”

Stiles brow wrinkles. “You went to visit Peter? Why?”

“I wanted to talk to him,” Derek sighs. “See if he knew anything about Laura’s murder, about who the Alpha was. I told him that I…” Derek trails off, looking ashamed. “That I needed his help.”

“And?” Stiles prompts when he doesn’t say anything else.

“And nothing,” Derek says shortly. “He couldn’t respond, and I lost my temper.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, but decides not to comment on that. “So where are we going?” he asks instead.

“To talk to the man that seems to be at the center of this,” Derek says grimly. “The man the authorities always come to when they need answers.”

“Who?” Stiles asks, feeling a hint of trepidation.

“Alan Deaton,” Derek growls as he pulls up in front of the animal clinic.

“You think Scott’s boss is the Alpha?” Stiles asks incredulously. “No way.”

“I’m not sure yet,” Derek says, climbing out of the Camaro. “I need to ask him some questions.”

Stiles follows Derek, watching as he storms up to the vet, and shoves the paper in his face like its proof of guilt. “What do you know about this?” he demands. “What did you tell the authorities?”

“What?” Deaton says, clearly taken aback. “I told them I’d never seen anything like it. That I didn’t know what it was, so I couldn’t help them,” he stammers as Derek advances on him, cornering him.

Stiles catches Deaton’s eye, and tries to look reassuring and non-murderous enough for the both of them. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Especially when Derek grabs Deaton by the collar and slams him against the wall. “Why are you lying to me?” he hisses.

“I’m not,” Deaton protests, understandably frightened. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

Scott bursts in just as Derek punches Deaton right in the face, knocking him out.

“What the hell?” Scott shouts, trying to shove Derek away.

He completely ignores Scott, and drags Deaton’s unconscious body to a chair, propping him up in it.

It’s when Derek extends his claws that Stiles decides it’s time to step in. He’s pretty sure Deaton isn’t the Alpha, anyway. What self-respecting werewolf gets knocked out with one punch?

“Derek,” Stiles says firmly, pulling Derek’s hand away from Deaton’s face. “What are you doing?”

He glances over at Scott, who’s partially shifted, and has an iron grip on Derek’s other arm. He looks as bewildered as Stiles feels.

“If he’s unconscious, he can’t prevent his healing,” Derek says to Stiles, and after a moment his claws retract. “We’ll know for sure if he’s the Alpha.”

Scott makes a disbelieving noise.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he passed the test,” Stiles says, gently prodding the swollen skin of Deaton’s jaw.

“He could be faking,” Derek says, pulling his arm back like he wants to punch him again.

Stiles immediately grabs his wrist, pulling until Derek’s clenched fist is resting against his chest.

“Your anger and your sadness,” he says quietly, holding Derek’s gaze. “You can’t let them stop you from seeing the truth.”

Derek’s shoulders sag, and his hand uncurls.

“I have a plan for drawing out the Alpha,” Scott says suddenly, and Stiles flinches a little in surprise. “One that doesn’t involve beating up my boss,” he says bitterly.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “What’ve you got?” He loosens his grip on Derek’s wrist, trusting that he’s not going to try hitting Deaton again. To his surprise, Derek leaves his hand cradled against Stiles’ chest for a long moment before pulling away.

“We need to go to the school,” Scott says, giving Derek one last glare before heading out the door.

 

*

 

“Seriously, what’s the plan?” Stiles asks as they park in the empty lot, watching as Derek pulls up alongside them.

“You still have that bolt-cutter in the back of your jeep?” Scott asks.

“You know I do,” Stiles says, though he’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“Good,” Scott says. “We’re gonna break in.”

Derek is leaning against the hood of his car, looking extra fed-up with their antics. “What are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” Scott huffs, and jogs up the steps to the front door.

Stiles starts to get an inkling of Scott’s plan when they end up in the main office. His suspicions are confirmed when Scott says, “Do you know how to work the PA system?”

Stiles does, of course.

It’s a decent plan, except that Scott’s first attempt to howl is…more than awful.

“How did that sound?” he asks eagerly.

Stiles tries to think of a tactful way to describe the noise Scott made, and decides it’s not actually possible. “Like a cat in heat,” he says. “That’s also dying painfully.”

Scott’s face falls.

“Look, you gotta feel it,” Stiles says. “Why don’t you wolf out,” he says, waving a hand at Scott’s face, “and try again? Think about how pissed you are that he’s ruining your life, then howl.”

“Got it,” Scott says, and his eyes go golden.

The howl is so powerful, Stiles feels his knees go weak, and he swears he feels the whole building shake. He can’t believe Scott didn’t blow out the speakers.

When they walk back out of the school, elated, Derek is not nearly so impressed.

“What the hell was that? Are you trying to draw the attention of the entire county?” he demands.

“Don’t be such a sour wolf,” Stiles huffs, grinning at Scott.

“Yeah,” Scott says confidently. “It’ll work, it’ll draw the Alpha here.”

“And what then?” Derek asks angrily.

He doesn’t get to be upset for long.

Scott’s just starting to answer when Derek’s whole body jerks, his eyes widening as blood sprays from his mouth.

Then the Alpha tosses his body aside, snarling.

Stiles wants to run, but all he can do is stare at Derek, lying there in the grass. Lifeless.

“Shit,” Scott hisses, dragging him away, up the stairs and back into the school.

 _Derek is dead_ , his mind whispers as they run through the school, trying to find a place to hide. They end up in the locker room, mostly by habit, and shove themselves inside the lockers, pulling the doors shut.

Stiles thinks they’re done for, though, when he hears a noise outside. He holds his breath, trying to slow his pounding heart.

Then door rattles open, revealing a janitor who’s equally surprised to see them.

“Get out of here,” he yells, pushing them toward the hallway door, his keys jingling loudly against his hip.

They make it out, but the janitor doesn’t.

Stiles keeps thinking about it, even as they try to trap the Alpha, and fail. He just can’t believe Derek is _dead_.

He’s so preoccupied by the thought, he doesn’t care too much when Lydia, Allison, and Jackson show up. It’s life or death, and none of them even know it.

When he asks why they came, Allison tells him that Scott sent her a text, telling her to get to the school. But Stiles knows he did no such thing. Why would he invite his girlfriend to a murder-fest with a rabid werewolf?

They all run down the halls, playing a truly terrible game of hide-and-seek, and dive into a tiny classroom, locking the door behind them.

Then they all crowd around Scott, demanding to know what’s going on. Of course, Scott immediately throws Derek under the bus. Apparently he doesn’t believe in not speaking ill of the dead.

It hurts Stiles to think that, but hurts him more to think of anyone else dying, so he clenches his jaw and doesn’t contradict what Scott says. He’s right on the verge of crying or screaming, so when Jackson tries to force him to call his dad, Stiles punches him right in the face.

Then he calls anyway.

All he gets is the voicemail message.

Stiles has been telling Scott since he got bit that he has a responsibility now, and it figures that message would finally kick in tonight, the least opportune moment.

They’re all desperate to find a way out, to escape their own high school. Scott volunteers to go get the keys from the janitor’s dead body, so they can get up to the roof, then take the fire escape down to the parking lot.

It’s a bit too convoluted, in Stiles’ opinion. He’s tempted to suggest that Scott distracts the Alpha while the rest of them just sneak out the front doors.

Then he remembers Derek’s look of surprise when the Alpha’s claws went into his back, and he ends up not saying anything at all.

Nobody else likes Scott’s plan either, but they also want to live, so they let him go.

Scott disappears out the door with a bottle of self-igniting Molotov cocktail and a can-do attitude. Stiles isn’t too sure about the value of either.

After twenty minutes, he starts to worry. It really shouldn’t take that long to steal keys from a dead guy.

He knows for certain that something’s gone wrong, though, when he sees Scott lurking outside the door, right before he snaps the key in the lock and disappears.

He must be going to face the Alpha.

He only gets a few moments to imagine his friend’s brutal murder, before the sounds of police sirens reach his ears.

He desperately hopes the Alpha isn’t into confrontations with law enforcement.

There’s some tense moments where he’s sure he can hear the sound of screaming, but it’s just his anxiety. He breathes a sigh of relief when, a couple minutes later, his dad breaks open the door of the classroom.

Scott meets them in the main lobby on their way out, thankfully looking fully human. He tells the Sheriff about the janitor’s body, which is likely crushed under the bleachers in the gym.

Not a mental image Stiles really needed.

They step outside just as Scott pins everything on Derek. Stiles can’t help glancing toward his body, because that sure as hell won’t corroborate their story.

It’s not there.

Derek’s body is gone.

Stiles feels a little sliver of hope settle in his chest.

 

*

 

Allison breaks up with Scott.

Stiles honestly has bigger fish to fry, namely the fact that the Alpha wants Scott to _kill all of his friends_. Scott hadn’t really wanted to tell him that little tidbit, and Stiles is honestly wishing he’d never heard it.

Which is probably why he’s started hitting his dad’s liquor cabinet. School’s closed for repairs, and his dad is away a lot on police business, which includes looking for Derek, who may or may not be dead.

It’s all very stressful, and Stiles has too much free time and too few coping mechanisms to deal with it. He does, however, know that it’s bad to drink alone, so he borrows a bottle of Jack and drags Scott out to the woods for a little post-breakup pity party.

Its’ a terrible plan, mainly because the forest is probably the least safe place to be right now, with a vengeful Alpha on the loose. But in Stiles’ defense, he was already drunk when he came up with it.

It’s also a bad plan, it turns out, because Scott can’t actually get drunk. And that’s really shitty, Stiles totally feels for him, but he keeps drinking anyway. If he does it long enough, maybe he’ll be able to convince himself he doesn’t feel anything.

“Look, man,” he slurs. “I know it sucks. But there’s plenty of other girls in the sea.”

“You mean fish,” Scott says drolly.

“Fish? Who cares about fish? I mean girls,” Stiles says, giggling. “Or guys, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Like you are? You know, into guys like Derek?” Scott asks, and Stiles feels a flash of pain through his heart.

He’s starting to wish he was having this conversation sober. “He’s a dangerous guy to be into,” he says carefully.

“But you are anyway, aren’t you?” Scott says.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. Because if you can’t admit it to your best friend, who can you admit it to?

He’s just picked up the half-empty bottle for another swig, when it’s ripped out of his hand. Stiles sits up, finds two homeless-looking guys standing in front of them, sipping his Jack.

Scott’s always been kind of moody, and his transition to werewolf hasn’t helped that one bit. In fact, it’s probably made it worse, considering it’s a full moon tomorrow. Scott’s gotta already feeling the effects.

So, of course, he doesn’t even hesitate to jump up and start threatening them. Stiles is all for it, because no one gets to steal the Sheriff’s liquor but him. Until he sees Scott’s poorly-hidden claws, hears the dangerous rumble in his voice.

Obviously the two guys get a bad feeling about it too, because they make themselves scarce really quickly. Though tragically, they do escape with his bottle of Jack.

Stiles is pretty sure he was not done drinking.

But when Scott hauls him up, and he watches the whole forest tilt around him, he’s kind of glad he didn’t have more. Who knows how Scott would react if Stiles puked on his shoes?

Scott shoves him into the passenger seat of the jeep, getting him arranged pretty easily. Sometimes, that werewolf strength really comes in handy.

Once they get moving, Stiles blissfully passes out, and doesn’t wake up until they’re parked in his driveway.

 

*

 

Of course, their first day back to school would have to feature both midterms and the impending full moon. Scott seems extra edgy, and the whole situation with Allison is not helping at all.

Scott’s not handling the rejection well, and Stiles is pretty sure the stress of everything is getting to him. Hell, the Alpha could _kill_ him tonight.

He knows he’s right when Scott bolts out of the test, looking like he’s seen a ghost.

He expects to find Scott in the bathroom, possibly throwing up, but he’s not there. Instead, he finds him in the locker room. Seriously, why is that Scott’s go-to location? It’s not exactly the most pleasant place to be.

Scott’s leaned up against the back wall of the showers, chest heaving, when Stiles comes in. He tries to talk to him, ask him what’s wrong, but he just gasps that he can’t breathe.

Stiles is pretty sure he knows what’s happening, and he hands Scott his inhaler, hoping it will help.

Scott takes a puff, then looks at Stiles incredulously. “I was having an asthma attack?”

“No, a panic attack,” Stiles says. “The inhaler just helped you control your breathing, which is a common way to stop one.”

“Oh,” Scott says, staring at him in wonder. “How’d you know?”

“I used to get them a lot when I was a kid,” Stiles says, shrugging. “The signs are pretty unmistakable. They suck, huh?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “That was awful. But what am I going to do?”

“I think you’re putting a little too much pressure on yourself,” Stiles says. “Especially with this whole ‘win back Allison’ thing you’ve got going. Look, we’re the only ones who really know what happened that night. Allison’s probably still trying to decide how she feels about all of it, okay? Just give it time.”

 “I was just trying to protect her. Protect all of you,” Scott says sadly.

“ _I_ know that,” Stiles says firmly. “But she doesn’t. Right now, she just feels betrayed. You gotta let some of that feeling fade before you start anything back up. Think of this as an opportunity to focus on the Alpha, instead.”

Scott gives him a wry look. “When did you get so good at stuff like this?”

“I’ve had to focus a lot on other people, and their feelings, lately. Personal growth, man, it’s rough,” Stiles says, grinning.

“Been experiencing a little of that myself,” Scott says with an answering smile.

 

*

 

However, Stiles’ day starts looking up when, at after school practice, Coach promotes him to _first line_. It’s probationary, and he doesn’t even get Stiles’ name right, but at this point he’s willing to find happiness in the small stuff.

Scott gets Co-Captain, and Stiles is all ready to celebrate, until he sees Jackson’s sour face. Knowing him, he’s going to view his new status as Co-Captain to be a demotion, and will probably act like an asshat about it.

Stiles pulls Scott aside on their way out to the field. Scott’s full-moon moodiness seems like it’s reaching an all-time high, and it’s probably the worst time for him to be playing. He decides to give Scott a heads-up. “Hey, Jackson’s going to be after you, man. You need to be careful.”

“I don’t even care about the position,” Scott says dismissively.

“Yeah, but Jackson does,” Stiles says. “Just, watch out, okay?”

Scott just rolls his eyes. “I could practically smell the jealousy in there. What am I supposed to do, be afraid of the whole team?” he asks sarcastically.

“Wait, hold on,” Stiles says, pulling him to a stop. “Was that a figure of speech, or can you really smell something like that?” Scott may be pissy, but this could be some really useful information.

Scott huffs in annoyance. “Yeah, I can smell that kind of stuff. Fear and anger are probably the easiest ones to pick up.”

“What about desire? Arousal?” Stiles blurts before he can stop himself. Because if so, his interactions with werewolves are going to be extra awkward now.

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott says, giving him an odd look. “I’d have to be a pretty strong feeling, though, for me to be able to smell it. At least, usually. Right now, I can sense too much. Way too much,” he says firmly, when Stiles goes to ask him another question.

“Okay,” Stiles says, and decides he really doesn’t want to know.

 

*

 

Stiles doesn’t understand what it means, at first. They’re standing at the end of his driveway when he gets out of the jeep, and he eyes them warily. He was pretty drunk last night, but he definitely remembers the two guys from the woods.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” he says, slamming the door and slowly backing toward his house. He’s really wishing his dad wasn’t on shift right now.

“We just wanted to say we’re sorry,” one of the guys says, and Stiles stops in his tracks.

“Yeah, we didn’t know,” the other one says. “She told us it was just arson, for the insurance money. She told us the house would be empty. We didn’t know,” he says, desperately, his voice breaking.

“Tell the Hale kid we’re sorry. Please,” the first one says, and the other nods.

“Um, okay?” Stiles says. “But what are you talking ab—”

They’re gone before he can finish his question.

He stares at the empty space where they stood.

That means they must both be dead.

And what were they apologizing for, anyway?

 

*

 

“I tell you to be careful, to watch yourself, and what do you do?” Stiles grunts angrily, pulling the chains out if his bag. “You take out Danny, who’s everybody’s favorite. Stop giving them reasons to hate you, Scott.”

“I don’t care,” Scott growls from his spot in his armchair. “And you don’t have to chain me up, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not,” Stiles says, glancing at him warily. “And you’re honestly staring to freak me out, so please let me use these. One werewolf out for blood is more than enough.”

He thinks Scott is going to argue some more, but he settles down on the floor next to Stiles, face still set in a serial-killer expression. “You have anything besides chains?”

In answer, Stiles swiftly handcuffs him to the radiator.

Scott, predictably, does not take it well. “Stiles, what the hell?” he snarls, yanking at the cuffs angrily.

“Dude, you already agreed,” Stiles says, trying to stay calm. “This is for your own good.”

Scott gives him another bitter look, but he relents, slumping against the wall. “I’m not going to do anything,” he says, low and emotionless. “You can let me go.”

Stiles is not convinced. “No, I don’t think so,” he says with false cheerfulness. If he lets Scott go, chances are good that he’ll do something stupid.

He’s also betting the hunters are out in force tonight, which is just another reason Scott is going to stay right here.

Naturally, that plan goes to shit.

He’s downstairs, grabbing a bottle of water, when it happens.

Scott’s growls and irritable rattling of the cuffs suddenly cease, and there’s just empty, ominous silence. Stiles sprints up the stairs and rounds the corner so fast he bounces off the doorframe.

Still, he’s too late.

Scott’s gone, and all that remains is a pair of bloody, broken handcuffs.

Shit.

 

*

 

Stiles hops in the jeep and goes looking for him, anxiety heavy in the pit of his stomach. He honestly has no idea where to look, and Scott could be anywhere, doing anything.

He’s just about to give up, when his phone starts ringing.

It’s Scott.

He fumbles it and almost drops it, but he manages to get the phone to his ear. “Scott! Are you okay?” he demands.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Scott says, and Stiles feels a wave of relief roll through him. Then he says, “Yeah, Derek stopped me from hurting anyone,” and Stiles slams on the brakes so hard the whole jeep swerves sideways.

Thank god no one is behind him.

“What?” Stiles gasps, his heart racing. “He’s really alive, then?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, like Stiles is slow for not catching on. “Hey, we’re out behind the mall, can you come pick me up?”

“On my way,” Stiles says, letting out a sigh and wheeling the jeep around. “So, you accuse Derek of murder, and he still goes out of his way to help you, to keep you out of trouble. Are you still doubting whether or not to trust him?” he says, a little bit angry, and hangs up the phone before Scott can answer.

 

*

 

He finds Scott and Derek at the edge of the parking lot, near the woods, and they’re clearly in the middle of a discussion. Judging by Derek’s face, Scott’s just unloaded all his teenage drama on him.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” he hears in Scott’s distinctive whine as he climbs out of the jeep, and he smirks to himself. Looks like he was right.

But then Scott asks, “Is there a cure?” and that has him hurrying right over.

Derek nods to Stiles in greeting, and Stiles narrowly resists tackling him in a hug. He settles for letting his eyes rove over Derek’s face, drinking him in.

“There’s a story, that a beta can be cured by killing the one that bit them,” Derek says seriously.

Scott’s face lights up with hope, right before Derek says, “It’s not true, though. There’s a dangerous pack on the east coast, and every member is a former beta that killed their own alpha. None of them ever became human.”

“Damn,” Scott says, shoulders slumping.

Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll do some research into it, okay?” he says encouragingly.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Derek says, arms crossed over his chest. “We still need to take out the Alpha, and we’re running out of time. You need to learn control, and you need to help me find him.”

Scott shares a long look with Stiles, then nods. “Okay, I will,” he sighs.

“Dude,” Stiles hisses when Scott turns to walk to the jeep. “Did you even apologize for pinning all the murders on him?”

“I told him I did it because I thought he was dead,” Scott grumbles.

“And since I’m not,” Derek cuts in, scowling, “and all the cops are out in force, I’m going to have to lay low.” He glares at Scott. “And you need to stop drawing so much attention to yourself, or the Argents are going to figure everything out.”

“It’s going to make it a lot harder for you to teach him anything,” Stiles says.

“I’ll figure something out,” Derek says, turning away. “Take him home, make sure he stays there,” he says over his shoulder.

“Right,” Stiles says. “Are you going back to the house? They’re going to look for you there, probably sooner rather than later.”

Derek pauses, gives him one last look. “I’m searching for alternatives,” he says, and starts walking again.

“Told you that you shouldn’t have blamed Derek for everything. He’s like, the only other person on our side!” Stiles says irritably, watching Derek go. He’s still frustrated, he has so much he wants to say to Derek, but right now he can’t.

“I know!” Scott huffs, glancing up at the sky, where the moon is shrouded by clouds. “I got distracted, okay?”

“Believe me, I know,” Stiles says, with feeling. “And why the hell did you come out to the _mall_?”

“I, uh,” Scott says, looking embarrassed. “I was looking for Allison.”

“Of course you were,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Wait, is she actually here?” he asks, looking around.

“She was,” Scott mutters. “She was here with Jackson. I saw them sitting together in his car, and I almost attacked him.”

“And Derek stopped you, right? You’re lucky as hell,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s go home,” he says, jiggling his keys and walking toward the jeep.

“Yeah,” Scott says, sounding tired. “Let’s go.”

“We gotta get back before your mom does,” Stiles says, looking over his shoulder. “So we can clean up all your blood and hide those handcuffs.”

 

*

 

“I’m going to start staking out the school,” Derek says the next afternoon, leaning in the corner of Stiles’ bedroom.

“Really, Derek?” Stiles says, dropping his backpack in a huff. He locks the door and flops down on the bed. “That’s like, a really public location for a wanted criminal,” he says, running a hand over his face.

“You think I don’t know that?” Derek grits out. “But the Alpha seems to keep going back there, so it’s my best chance to find him.” He sticks his hand in his pocket, and tosses something that Stiles instinctively manages to catch.

“Your keys?” Stiles says in surprise, when he realizes what’s in his palm.

“It’s not just the police looking for me,” Derek says. “It’s the Argents, too. So if they get too close to me, you’ll have to lead them astray.”

“A wild goose chase, got it,” Stiles says, nodding. He sits up suddenly. “You didn’t bring it here, did you? That’s the most conspicuous vehicle ever,” he says, leaning toward the window.

“It’s parked in the woods two blocks from here. Drive it only if I tell you to,” Derek says sternly.

“That’s cool, totally an emergencies-only kind of thing,” Stiles says. “Like I said, that car is way too conspicuous. All the cops will be on the lookout for it.”

“On second thought,” Derek says pensively. “Maybe Scott should drive.”

“What, you think he’s a better driver than me?” Stiles says, stuffing Derek’s keys in his pocket.

“I’ve seen the way you drive that jeep,” Derek says, eyebrows raised.

“So? Scott rides a _bicycle_ ,” Stiles huffs.

“Exactly,” Derek smirks. “He’ll appreciate it more.” And then he’s out the window before Stiles can say anything.

Asshole, Stiles thinks, grinning.

 

*

 

He doesn’t expect Derek to cash in on his promise the very next night.

“The Argents are here at the school,” he says. “I need you to get rid of them, I think the Alpha’s close,” he says, and hangs up.

Which is how he and Scott end up joyriding on the outskirts of town, Kate Argent hot on their tail.

“She’s gonna catch up to us, and then she’s going to kill us,” Scott says ever so helpfully, his hands clenched tight around the wheel.

“Pedal to the metal!” is all Stiles says in response, his eyes on the bright headlights behind them, drawing nearer.

Scott skids the Camaro around a sharp turn, and Stiles decides to distract himself from the possibility of a fatal car crash by calling Derek.

“Iron works…hurry…” he gets from a breathless sounding Derek, then the line is empty again.

Stiles glances at his phone, wondering if he lost service. Full bars. “Hey, we gotta get to the ironworks,” he says, looking behind them. “Dude, she’s gone, turn around!”

“Okay, okay,” Scott huffs, changing direction. “What’s going on?”

“We’re about to find out,” Stiles says, flicking on his police radio.

The news is not good.

“Aren’t the police going to have that whole area blocked off?” Scott asks nervously.

“Not yet,” Stiles says. “They wouldn’t have had enough personnel at the station, a bunch are still coming in from patrols. Try the east end, hopefully they won’t be there yet.”

“All right,” Scott says, revving the engine.

Sure enough, they manage to snag Derek right before the police do. Stiles can’t believe their luck.

He wedges himself in the back seat as Derek jumps in, and Scott guns it out of there.

“Shit,” Stiles says, trying not to be too thrilled by the whole evading-the-law thing. Thank god the Sheriff’s department can’t afford helicopter surveillance. “So what happened?”

“I had him,” Derek growls, eyes trained on the rearview mirror.

No one’s following them. Not yet, anyway.

“Who?” Stiles asks, bracing his shoulders between the front seats so he can see. Derek looks wrung out and pissed off. “The Alpha?”

“Yes. He was there, at the school, and I _had him_ , but then the fucking police showed up.” He levels a glare at Scott. “Thanks to you, I’m the most wanted person in the state.”

“I made a mistake,” Scott says defensively. “And I said I was sorry. We’re helping you now, okay? What more do you want?”

“What was he doing at the school?” Stiles asks before the conversation can devolve into an argument. Somebody’s gotta focus on the important stuff.

“He was threatening some teacher named Harris,” Derek starts.

“Our _Chemistry teacher?_ ” Stiles blurts. “Why?”

Derek gives him a long look. “He’s apparently part of the Alpha’s vengeance plot. Because he was about to kill him when I got there,” he says.

“Damn, and you saved him?” Stiles says disgustedly.

Scott gives him a pointed look.

“I’m kidding,” Stiles says unconvincingly.

“Um, where are we taking you?” Scott asks, shooting Derek a wary look.

Derek sighs.

 

*

 

Stiles doesn’t have to feel bad about Derek sleeping in the woods for long, because he’s waiting in Stiles’ room again when he gets home from school.

“Dude, my dad is home,” he hisses.

“Better not let him in here, then,” Derek whispers back.

Which is, of course, when Stiles hears his dad coming up the stairs. By the way Derek’s tensing up, he hears it, too.

Stiles darts across the room and leans out of the doorway, trying to block the rest of the view with his body. “Hey, dad,” he says ultra-casually.

That gets him an odd look, but his dad recovers quickly. “I have to go do some stuff, but I want you to know that I’m going to be there tonight. For your first game,” he says, with the kind of proud smile Stiles hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Yeah? Cool,” Stiles says, taken off guard. With all the werewolf stuff going on, he’d honestly kind of forgotten about making first line.

“They’re really going to let you play, right?” his dad teases.

“Yep. No bench warming for me,” he says with an awkward laugh, trying not to think about Derek hiding just on the other side of the door.

“I just want you to know that I’m proud of you,” his dad continues.

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles says automatically, his brain still caught on all the ways they’d be fucked if his dad found Derek in his room. “I’m, uh, really proud of myself,” he says, trying to salvage the conversation. And wow, this is the most awkward thing that’s happened to him in a while.

His dad just looks at him.

“I’ll, um, I’ll see you tonight,” Stiles says, desperate for this interaction to be over.

“Okay,” his dad says, giving him one last searching look before heading down the stairs.

“Shit,” Stiles sighs as he steps back into his room and shuts the door. That was too close for comfort.

Derek is exactly where he left him, standing in the corner and looking surly.

“You realize what a bad idea it is for you to be here right now, don’t you?” Stiles asks, trying to slow his racing heart. Derek’s shown up before, sure, but never with his dad in the house.

Derek tilts his head. “Your dad is driving away now. And I don’t exactly have a lot of options,” he says. “We need to figure out the Alpha’s next move.”

“About that,” Stiles says, sitting in front of his computer. “I may have a clue. That night at the school, Allison showed up because she got a text from Scott. But he never actually sent her a text, someone was pretending to be him.”

“And you want to figure out who,” Derek says, nodding. “How?”

Stiles grins. “I might know a guy.”

 

*

 

“Stiles, I’m here to study,” Danny protests, already pulling the Chemistry homework out of his backpack.

“But you can do it, right?” Stiles pushes. “You can trace a text?”

“What would even make you think I could do something like that?” Danny asks, crossing his arms defensively.

“I read your arrest report,” Stiles says, ignoring Danny’s shocked face. “I know you can.”

“That record was sealed,” Danny says, outraged. “And I said no.” His eyes dart sideways, to where Derek is sitting. “And who is this guy, anyway?”

Stiles runs through the possibilities. He has to be someone believable, but preferably also someone that will make Danny more sympathetic, more willing to help. “He’s my boyfriend, Miguel,” he says, with all the conviction he can muster.

Danny’s eyebrows go up. “Is that why you were asking me if you were attractive to gay guys?” he asks, glancing at Derek speculatively. “Looks like you got it figured out.” He sounds impressed, and Stiles tries not to feel smug. Derek isn’t actually his boyfriend, after all.

“Um, yeah,” Stiles says, trying to ignore Derek’s gaze boring into him. “We got together last week.”

“And you already have him in your bedroom?” Danny says, grinning. “You move faster than I would have expected, Stilinski.”

Derek shifts irritably at that, and Danny looks over again. “Hey, does he have blood on his shirt?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Stiles says with false casualness. “He sometimes gets bad nosebleeds.” He runs a hand through his hair, decides how much he wants to push his luck. Too far, probably. “Hey, babe,” he calls sweetly. “I said you could borrow one of my shirts.”

Derek gives him a very fake smile, but he flings his book down on Stiles’ bed and stands up. He walks over to Stiles’ dresser as he strips off his shirt, revealing the muscular curve of his back.

Stiles hears Danny audibly gulp, and smirks to himself.

Derek wiggles into a shirt that’s clearly too small, glaring the entire time. “This doesn’t fit,” he grits out.

“Try something else,” Stiles says, turning back to his computer and pretending not to notice the way Danny’s eyes keep going back to Derek.

There’s several seconds of quiet rustling while he types. Then, low and dangerous, he hears “Stiles!”

He spins back around, sees Derek in an old orange-and-blue shirt he’d been planning to get rid of. But not anymore. He’s going to treasure it forever, now. He only wishes he were brave enough to take a picture.

“None of these _fit_ ,” Derek growls.

Stiles tries hard not to laugh. “Danny, what do you think?”

“I, uh,” Danny says, giving Derek an obvious once-over. “I don’t think it’s really his color.”

Derek huffs, takes it back off. This time, they’re treated to a lovely view of his defined abs and chest.

“Danny,” Stiles says, soft but warningly. “Are you checking out my boyfriend?”

“No,” Danny says quickly, turning back around. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Now what was this about a text?”

Stiles looks over his shoulder and grins at Derek. “Try that black shirt in the bottom drawer,” he says with a little wink.

Derek rolls his eyes.

Danny works with the information Stiles gives him for a while, twitching nervously when Derek looms up behind them. Derek puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, letting his thumb rest across the back of his neck.

Stiles shivers at the contact, gives Danny a little smirk when he looks over.

“Here,” Danny says confidently, tapping the keys a few more times. “This is the account that sent the text.”

“What?” Stiles squawks, staring hard at the screen. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Danny says, leaning back in his chair. “It was definitely sent from that computer.”

 _Shit_ , Stiles thinks. He doesn’t want to believe the name on the screen, but he trusts Danny’s skills. Now he has to figure out how to handle this.

_Melissa McCall._

 

*

 

He’s just parked in front of the hospital when Scott calls him.

“I just had a really uncomfortable conversation with Allison’s dad,” he says.

“It’s his special skill,” Stiles says drily. “What was it about?”

“About Derek,” Scott says, sounding nervous. “How I met him, how well I knew him, stuff like that.”

Stiles sighs. “That’s never a good sign. They’re probably trying to figure out who else is in the Alpha’s pack. And they must know Derek’s still around, despite the police search,” he says, glancing at Derek, who he’s betting is hearing both sides of the conversation.

“They must at least suspect,” Scott says grimly, then sighs. “I had to go through his weird threatening speech, and I still didn’t get to talk to Allison,” he grumbles.

“You know, if you start dating her again, you’re going to have to see Chris Argent pretty often, right?” Stiles says reasonably.

“Don’t remind me,” Scott says. “Hey, you ready for the game?”

“About that,” Stiles says, staring across the dark parking lot. “I’m, uh, I’m going to be late. If you see my dad, can you let him know?”

“Um, yeah. Sure,” Scott says.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles says, then hangs up before Scott can ask any questions.

“You’re not going to make it back in time,” Derek says, giving him an oddly speculative look.

“Don’t I know it,” Stiles says. “But I don’t want to tell him until we know for sure,” he says, pushing open the door of the jeep.

“Oh, and Stiles?” Derek says, his voice light.

“Yeah?” Stiles says, hesitating.

Derek smacks him across the back of his head. The hit is surprisingly light, more of a shock than anything, and Stiles stares at Derek with his mouth open.

“Your boyfriend, Stiles? Really?” Derek says, eyebrow cocked.

Stiles gives him a little grin and slides out of the jeep. “Hey, a guy can dream,” he says, not missing Derek’s look of surprise before he slams the door shut.

He heads for the front door of the hospital, feeling just a little bit smug.

It doesn’t last long. He’s never liked hospitals, but they’re somehow even worse after dark. With all the visitors gone, there’s nothing left but sickness and misery.

Also, the halls are weirdly deserted, and it’s honestly starting to freak him out.

He calls Derek.

“I can’t find her,” he says. “She’s not at her usual station. Maybe she’s at the game?”

“You can check with my uncle’s nurse,” Derek says. “She’s probably in his room.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, making his way down the maze of hallways. “Uh, Derek?” he says, staring into a completely empty patient room. Something is really starting to feel off now. “He’s not here, either.”

“What? What do you mean, he’s not there?” Derek demands. There’s an ominous pause, and Stiles just stands in the doorway, anticipating. “Stiles, get out of there!” he yells urgently. “It’s _him_ , he’s the Alpha!”

That’s the moment Peter appears, because he’s clearly a man who appreciates dramatic flair. “Hello, Stiles,” he says with a creepy little smile. “So lovely to see you again.”

Stiles is very much in disagreement. He liked Peter far better when he was a catatonic burn victim.

He tries to back away, but Peter’s nurse is there, blocking his way. _Oh, god_ , Stiles thinks, staring at her impassive face. _She must have been helping him all along. All those murders…_

His train of disturbing thought is derailed when Derek smashes his elbow into her face, knocking her out. “Get out of the way,” he grows at Stiles.

“Oh, god,” Stiles whimpers, crouching down in the hallway.

Derek leaps over him, going for Peter with his claws outstretched. Problem is, Peter is far stronger, and he sends Derek crashing to the ground over and over. Stiles skitters away, narrowly missing being crushed by Derek’s body.

It’s not looking good, and Stiles is beginning to accept the fact that they’re both going to die here.

“Derek,” Peter says, looking totally calm. “Why don’t you let me explain?”

“I don’t think so,” Derek snarls from his spot on the floor.

“I just want a little understanding,” Peter continues, totally unflappable. “I was driven mad by the fire, and by how slow my healing was afterward. I didn’t mean to kill Laura, but gaining Alpha status pushed me over a plateau in the process. It was necessary,” he says casually.

Derek snarls at that. He leaps up, and digs his claws deep into the palm of his own hand. Then he flings the hot blood right into Peter’s eyes.

When he staggers back, hands scrubbing at his face, Derek sprints past and grabs Stiles. He yanks him down the hallway, and doesn’t stop running until they make it to the jeep.

“Hurry up,” he hisses when Stiles fumbles with his keys.

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Stiles says breathlessly, still shaking with adrenaline. He can’t believe they’re still alive.

They both breathe a sigh of relief when he finally gets the jeep started, and he floors it out of the parking lot.

He drives on autopilot, and he’s almost back to his house before his brain catches up. “Shit, the game!” he shouts, turning the jeep around.

“It’s long over,” Derek says, looking at him oddly.

“I know that,” Stiles huffs. “But I need to talk to Scott, and I’m betting he’s still there.”

They find him sprawled out on the floor of the showers.

Stiles rushes to his side while Derek prowls through the rest of the locker room, probably checking for danger.

“Peter was here,” he says when he’s done with his circuit.

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles says, shaking Scott’s shoulder. “Buddy? You okay?”

Scott groans, and Stiles feels like his heart can start beating again. He helps Scott sit up.

“The Alpha is Peter!” Scott says urgently, hand flying to the back of his neck. “He was just here.”

“Oh, trust me,” Stiles says grimly. “We know.”

“He was pushing you to join his pack, wasn’t he?” Derek says. “Trying to convince you?”

“Yeah, he was telling me he could help me reach my full potential, whatever that is. He said we’d be stronger together. But I told him I wasn’t going to kill my friends,” Scott says.

Derek nods. “What else?”

“He…he said I wouldn’t have to kill all of them. He said I wouldn’t have to kill Allison,” Scott says quietly. “And then he said he wanted me to see things from his perspective.”

“He put his claws in your neck, didn’t he?” Derek says.

Stiles leans over, pulls Scott’s hand away from his neck. There’s no marks there.

“Yeah,” Scott says, low and tense. “I saw the fire, I saw them burning alive.”

Scott’s not looking, but Stiles doesn’t miss Derek’s flinch.

“I saw him going slowly insane,” Scott continues. “Over years and years. I _felt_ it all. I’m gonna have fucking nightmares.”

“That’s the least of our worries,” Derek says harshly, his jaw clenched.

Stiles thinks Derek probably has nightmares every night.

“Trust me,” Scott growls. “I know.”

 

*

 

“I talked to Allison today,” Scott says happily when Stiles answers the phone.

“Dude, what?” Stiles says. “I thought you were backing off, giving her some space.”

“I was,” Scott sighs. “But I’m so scared all the time, and when I’m around her…I forget. Just for a little while, but I forget. And it’s nice,” he says defensively.

“I get it,” Stiles says. Sometimes when he looks at Derek, he forgets all about his troubles, too. “So what happened?” he asks, because he knows Scott wants to gush.

“Well, I remembered her dad said she sometimes ran the trails out in the preserve,” Scott starts.

“Oh my god, were you following her?” Stiles says. “Because that’s kind of creepy, dude.”

“No!” Scott huffs. “I was just walking along, and I happened to catch her scent…” Scott says.

“I wonder about you sometimes,” Stiles says, but it’s nice to be able to tease his friend about something silly for once. “How did she react?”

“She tazed me.”

Stiles cracks up. “Are you joking? You’re not?” He laughs some more.

“It’s not that funny,” Scott grumbles, but he’s laughing, too.

“It definitely is,” Stiles says. “I’m just sad I missed it. Was she mad at you, then?”

“No. She didn’t realize it was me when she fired it,” Scott says.

“ _Sure_ ,” Stiles says, dragging it out. “I bet she didn’t.”

“Allison is not a mean-spirited person,” Scott says teasingly. “Unlike some people I know. Anyway, she told me…she told me that she missed me. And then she hugged me,” Scott says dreamily.

“You’re hopeless,” Stiles says, but there’s no bite in it.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Scott says.

Stiles clears his throat. “Well, I gotta go, my dad’s actually home tonight, and I want to talk to him.”

There’s a long pause, where Stiles is certain he can feel Scott’s silent judgement. “Clearly you don’t want to talk about it,” he says eventually. “Good luck.”

 

*

 

Stiles finds that he needs more than luck: he needs hard liquor.

His dad’s working on a big case file, all spread out on the kitchen table, and Stiles takes advantage of the situation. He pours his dad a very full glass of whiskey, then keeps sneaking refills whenever he looks away.

He’s definitely going to hell, but he finds out what he needs to know: all the murders are connected, and the one common thread is the Hale house fire.

The bus driver had been an insurance investigator, dismissed from his job for suspected fraud. The video store clerk had been convicted of arson. The two men he’d met in the woods that night had a long list of priors, the most significant of which were several counts of arson.

Stiles has a sudden and horrifying understanding of what, exactly, they had been apologizing for.

He nervously flips through the paperwork nearest to him, and an interview transcript between his dad and Mr. Harris catches his eye. He reads through it, his stomach slowly filling with lead.

Apparently, several years ago, Harris had gotten drunk at a bar and started answering questions about the practical applications of chemistry. Hypothetically, things like how to break open a bank vault or make chemical weapons. Or even how to disguise arson.

She was beautiful, Harris says. A young woman, sharp and clever, with long blond hair.

Stiles is frozen in his seat with the realization.

He knows exactly who this is.

“But what I don’t understand,” his dad says muzzily, startling him out of his thoughts. “Is why Derek would do all of this. And why he would start the killings by murdering his own sister.”

Stiles desperately wants to correct him, wants to clear Derek’s name, but he can’t. He can’t point his dad to the real culprit.

“And why make it look like an animal attack?” his dad muses, shuffling through his papers. “Something’s going on. You know, I contacted animal control after that mountain lion showed up in the school parking lot. They said wild animal sightings are up seventy percent.”

Stiles nods. He knows what’s scaring them out of the woods.

“I just. I just feel like I’m missing something, and I don’t know what to do,” his dad says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, distracted, still thinking about everything he’s learned. He needs to talk to Scott and Derek.

Especially Derek.

“I gotta go,” he says, standing.

He’s almost at the door when he hears it. “It makes me miss her. It makes me miss your mother.”

He freezes, even as his heart plummets. “What did you say?” he asks, turning back in time to see his dad reach for the whiskey again. “No, I think you’ve had enough,” he says, gently pulling it out of his grasp.

“Thanks,” his dad says quietly.

Stiles sits back down at the table.

Those calls can wait.

 

*

 

Scott ends up calling him first. “Hey, I got some new—” he starts, but is interrupted by a frantic Scott.

“He’s with my mom!” he shouts, sounding breathless. “You gotta help me!”

“What?” Stiles says, inching the phone away from his ear a little. “Who has your mom? What’s going on, Scott?”

“Peter!” is the impatient response he gets. “He’s taking my mom out on a date.”

“That’s an unusual avenue of persuasion,” Stiles says, pulling on his shoes. “What a creeper.”

“You’re telling me,” Scott huffs. “He told me that I’d find the decision to join his pack a lot easier if my mother was a member, too.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, a little impressed despite himself. “How very underhanded of him.”

“Can we focus?” Scott says, sounding anxious. “Come get me, we gotta intercept them before he bites her!”

“All right,” Stiles says, grabbing his keys. “I’m on my way.”

He’d just finished getting his dad settled on the couch when Scott called, so he doesn’t feel too bad about leaving. He puts a glass of water on the coffee table and wishes, for one desperate moment, that he could tell his dad what’s really going on.

Maybe one day.

 

*

 

He and Scott discretely tail Peter’s car, which Stiles strongly suspects he stole, until he ends up pulling over on the side of the road. He then does Scott a big favor, and gives it a little tap with his jeep, despite how much it pains him.

While Scott ducks down, hiding, Stiles jumps out, feigning surprise as well as he can.

Melissa is _not_ amused. “What the hell, Stiles?” she demands.

“You just came out of nowhere!” Stiles says in mock confusion, keeping an eye on Peter.

“We were _parked_ , and you rear-ended us,” Melissa says, giving him her best glare.

She might be pissed, but considering that she hasn’t been bitten by a psychotic Alpha werewolf, Stiles is willing to endure her ire.

He’s trying to buy Scott time to figure out the next plan of action, and he can see Peter’s lips moving, seemingly talking to himself. He has no doubt it’s actually a threat toward Scott, so he makes it his mission to stall as long as possible.

So when Melissa suggests getting a police incident report, Stiles readily agrees. After all, he knows it won’t be his dad who responds to the call.

Stiles glances over at Peter when Melissa pulls out her phone. He’s acting like Stiles would expect a thwarted person to, scowling and continuing his sinister whispering.

Werewolf intimidation techniques are so weird.

He looks back over when Melissa hangs up, and it’s clear from her face that they told her it’d be a while. She’s obviously not thrilled at waiting around that long, and Stiles knows she has work in the morning.

He glances at his watch.

It’s getting a little late for dinner.

She gives him another piercing look, then goes to talk to murder-wolf himself. Peter pulls himself together enough to be gracious when she mentions taking a cab home.

It arrives only a few minutes later, and Stiles breathes a little sigh of relief. They’ve successfully interrupted Peter’s plans again.

Peter gives him a silent snarl as the taxi drives away, then climbs into his own car. He’s obviously not waiting for the police to show up.

That makes sense. Stiles wonders if he even has a valid license, because he’d been catatonic for _years_.

Stiles gives him a fake cheery wave goodbye as he drives off.

When he climbs back in the jeep, he finds that Scott is gone. He rolls his eyes. He probably went to lurk outside Allison’s window again.

He drives home, finds his dad sleeping peacefully on the couch, none the wiser. He refills his glass of water, then carefully sneaks up the stairs to his room.

He finds Derek waiting for him.

He almost has a heart attack when he opens the door and hears a hissed, “Don’t turn on the light!”

Stiles stumbles back, hand on his chest, taking a gasping breath of air. “What do you want me to do? Light a fucking candle?” he grumbles once he’s recovered a little, waiting for his eyes to adjust. “Remember how we talked about what a bad idea it was for you to be here while my dad’s home?”

“He’s drunk, and out cold,” Derek says, as though that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for him being here in Stiles room, late at night.

Stiles can finally see a little, so he makes his way over to the bed and sits down. “I was out cockblocking Peter, in case you wanted to know,” he says into the silence.

“I figured he was off doing something sinister,” Derek says, stepping closer. “I caught his scent outside Scott’s house, and was going to see if I could track him. But I had to leave before one of the nosy neighbors called the cops,” he says bitterly.

“It’s that leather jacket,” Stiles jokes. “Yeah, Peter apparently came to the conclusion that Scott would be far more willing to join the pack if he turned Melissa, too.”

“I’m guessing Scott didn’t take that too well,” Derek says dryly.

“He freaked right out,” Stiles confirms. “After we thwarted date night, he threatened Allison, too. I’m sure that’s where Scott is right now, actually.”

“At least he understands the danger now,” Derek says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Hey, I didn’t get to tell you sooner, because of the whole Peter incident, but I found some things out. Dad’s was working on your case downstairs, and I, uh, read some of the material, and—”

“Just spit it out, Stiles,” Derek says, and even in the dark, Stiles can see that his arms are crossed.

“It’s all those people the Alpha killed. They all had something to do with the fire. Most of them were arsonists,” Stiles says.

He sees Derek nod, wishes he could see his face.

“But then there’s Harris, who you said the Alpha was planning to kill. My dad interviewed him after he was almost attacked in the school, and he said, years ago, that he talked to a woman in a bar. That she was asking him questions about chemistry, about how to hypothetically get away with crimes,” Stiles says, not wanting to go on, but knowing he has to. “He described her, Derek. She was pretty and smart, with long blond hair. It was Kate.”

“I know,” Derek says low, with barely contained rage. “I know what she did. I just assumed she did it with the help of the Argent family, but obviously not.”

“No, I think that was all her,” Stiles says. “I, uh. The ghosts of the arsonists came to me. They wanted to tell you they were sorry.”

“Maybe the next ghost that comes to you, begging for help, will be Kate herself,” Derek growls, but it sounds like the fight has gone out of him. It sounds like he’s giving up.

Stiles can’t imagine the amount of guilt he must feel, doesn’t know how Derek breathes with it all crushing him. “What did you come here to tell me?” he asks, wanting to change the subject.

There’s a heavy sigh. “I’m going back to the house. Peter’s looking for me, wants me to join him on his mad quest for vengeance, and he won’t want to go back there,” Derek says.

“But it’s not just him that’s after you,” Stiles says, sitting up straight. “The police are still searching, and the hunters will be out, too. And you can bet that one or both of them will be looking in the Hale house,” he says feeling anxious.

He can’t lose Derek again.

“What will you do if they find you there?” he asks.

“The house has more hiding places than you think,” Derek says quietly. “I need time, Stiles. If I don’t help Peter, he’s going to kill me, just like he killed Laura. I need to figure out a plan, and I need you and Scott to help me kill him.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, his mind already racing ahead. “Yeah, of course.”

“I wanted you to know,” Derek says, his voice so low Stiles strains to hear. “In case you can’t get a hold of me. In case something happens, you know what you need to do,” he says, turning to leave.

“Derek!” Stiles calls, jumping up. Because Derek sounds like a man who knows he’s going to the gallows. “Hold on!”

Derek freezes there, waiting, and Stiles steps forward, placing his hand carefully on Derek’s shoulder. When he doesn’t shrug it off, Stiles uses his grip to encourage Derek to turn until he’s facing Stiles.

“Please be careful,” he says. “I can’t—” and his throat is too dry and his heart is racing too fast to finish. He trembles with all the things he needs to say, finds he’s leaning forward until his forehead is lightly resting against Derek’s chest. He takes a shallow breath, and then another deeper one, when Derek’s arms gently curl around his back.

He lets go of Derek’s shoulder, and tucks his arms around Derek’s waist, squeezing as tight as he dares.

He’s surprised at how tightly Derek holds him, too.

“Please be careful,” he repeats against Derek’s neck, wishing he could hold on forever.

“I will,” Derek says, and Stiles swears he feels a kiss to the top of his head before Derek is gone again.

Stiles sighs, trying to ignore the fluttering of his heart, and shuts the window. He has to figure out how to help them kill the Alpha, but also all the regular teenage stuff, too. The formal’s coming up, and the school year is slowly coming to a close.

Well, he’s not going to think about it tonight.

He crawls into bed and closes his eyes, drifts off imagining going to the formal with Derek.

 

*

 

Scott comes over the next evening.

“He showed up at my work,” he hisses as soon as Stiles has shut the door.

“What?” Stiles says, feeling like he’s missed something.

“Peter,” Scott says. “He showed up at the animal clinic today. He did his usual join-my-pack spiel, then he told me he’d kill Allison if he had to. And I think he’s looking for Derek.”

“We have got to figure out a way to take that guy out,” Stiles says, with feeling.

“What, so Derek can come out of hiding?” Scott says, giving him a significant look.

“Uh, mostly so all this shit can be over,” Stiles says defensively. “What are you going to do?”

“What I’ve been doing, I guess,” Scott says, looking helpless. “Try to protect the people I care about. Derek said an Alpha is the most powerful kind of werewolf. I don’t know how we’re going to beat him.”

“I’m trying to figure that out. Derek is, too,” Stiles says. “And I found out a lot of information last night, from my dad. The Alpha has been killing everyone connected to the fire, right? But he’s not done yet, and I’m betting he’s saving the best for last,” he says grimly.

“The Argents,” Scott breathes.

“He really just wants to kill the one who did it, but I think, given the chance, he’d kill them all.”

“What do you mean, the one who did it?”

Stiles sighs. “You ever consider why there were so many random people involved? The Argents have a lot of family members and contacts. If they had wanted the Hales burned, don’t you think it would have been them we’d be finding murdered? No, it’s small-time crooks that were enlisted. Because _she couldn’t do it alone_.”

Scott gives him a horrified look, shakes his head. “They think we’re monsters,” he says, disgusted. “But they have one living with them, right under the same roof.”

 

*

 

“Dude, why do you even care about going to the formal?” Stiles says, eyeing Scott critically. “Don’t you have more important things to be worrying about?”

“Yeah,” Scott sighs. “But Allison’s going to be there. And for some reason, Peter things she or the rest of the hunters know where Derek’s hiding.”

“But she doesn’t. Only we know—and you better not be planning to tell him,” Stiles says, glaring.

“I’m not gonna give up your boyfriend,” Scott huffs. “But that’s why I have to go. So I can protect Allison.”

“Dude, he’s not—whatever,” Stiles says, seeing the look on Scott’s face. “Didn’t Coach tell you that you weren’t allowed to go?”

“Yeah, because I’m failing two classes,” Scott says.

“Shit,” Stiles says, wincing. “How are you going to get in, then? Coach is going to be looking for you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says, not looking particularly worried.

“Well, do you even have a ticket?”

“No.”

“A date?”

“No.”

“A suit to wear?” Stiles asks, getting frustrated.

“No,” Scott says, in the same monotone.

“You do realize the formal is in two days, right?” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes. “This is one of those times where planning ahead is fairly critical.”

“I _know_ ,” Scott groans.

“And not only all that, but you know Peter and the hunters are going to be there, too.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Scott says. “Not only that, but I need to get Jackson to take Allison to the dance.”

“Jackson?” Stiles asks, lip curled. “Why him?”

“He’s been spending time with her, trying to mess with me. I know he likes her, and I just want someone there to protect her,” Scott says.

“Jackson’s _human_ ,” Stiles says. “You realize he’s just going to run and hide in his Porsche at the first sign of trouble, right? Besides,” he says, rolling his eyes. “He’s a total dickbag. Allison doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” Scott sighs. “So what do you suggest?”

“ _I’ll_ ask her,” Stiles says, with more confidence than he feels. “I’ll look out for her, and you know I won’t be trying to put the moves on her,” he says, nudging Scott with his elbow.

“That…that could work,” Scott says brightly, grinning at Stiles.

“Yeah. _If_ she agrees. I’m not gonna, like, make her go with me,” Stiles says awkwardly.

“I was thinking of going with Lydia,” Allison says sweetly, when Stiles manages to ask her. “But hey, we could all go together,” she adds, giving him a shy smile.

“Um, yeah,” Stiles says, surprised at how well things are going. “Cool.”

“We’re going dress shopping after school today,” Allison continues. “You should come, I think Lydia will want us to coordinate.”

“Okay,” Stiles says hesitantly.

“Great!” Allison says, giving him a little hug before heading down the hall.

Stiles stares after her, trying to figure out what just happened.

“Dude, did you just volunteer to go _dress shopping_ with them?” Scott asks, emerging from his hiding place behind the lockers.

“Uh, I guess?” Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully. “She did say yes, though.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You did good.”

 

*

 

Dress shopping is a trip.

Lydia immediately commandeers Stiles as her personal assistant, making him carry everything she wants to try on to the dressing room.

He looks down at the huge pile of dresses in his arms. “Is this a twenty-four hour Macy’s?” he asks, giving Allison a helpless look. She just laughs at him.

“Tell me which one you like better,” Lydia says, spinning around in a pink dress. “This one, or the one I tried on earlier?”

“Lydia, you already tried on like ten dresses,” Stiles says, exasperated. “I really have no idea.” It’s kind of tragic that his bisexuality is pulling him so hard toward a certain guy these days, because this would normally be a dream come true for him. A beautiful girl trying on revealing clothes and asking his opinion, all while giving him flirty looks.

Instead, he just keeps thinking about Derek.

He wonders if he should call, just to see if he’s okay. To make sure the hunters haven’t found him. Or Peter.

Lydia bursts out of the dressing room in a short little white dress. She opens her mouth to ask his opinion, but the intercom interrupts her.

She tilts her head, listening. “I think that’s Allison’s car,” she says, after hearing the announcement.

They both turn then, just in time to see Allison hurrying away.

“I thought so,” Lydia says, heading back for the dressing room. “Though I don’t remember her leaving her headlights on.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says distantly, because he swore, just for a moment, that he saw Peter between the racks of dresses.

Weird.

The stress must be getting to him.

When Allison comes back, she has a odd expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asks. She has three dresses in her arms, which is as close as they came to narrowing it down. Stiles’ brain is exhausted.

“Nothing, just…I swear I saw Scott in the parking lot,” Allison says. “But when I called his name, he disappeared.”

“Did you really leave your headlights on?” Stiles says, rubbing at his forehead.

“No,” Allison says. “I even started it up, to make sure it wasn’t dead.”

“Weird,” Lydia says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, eyes darting around the store. “Weird.”

 

*

 

Stiles offers to pick them up in his jeep the night of the formal, but the girls veto that right away. They end up all riding together in Allison’s car.

Which works out okay, because it means Scott can borrow the jeep, and that it’ll be at the school, just in case he needs it.

He’s afraid he’s going to need it.

“Do you know if Scott’s coming?” Allison asks as they pull up in front of the school.

“I know he’s not _supposed_ to,” Stiles says significantly, raising his eyebrows. “But I know he’s planning to, anyway.”

He doesn’t miss Allison’s little smile.

“Come on,” Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder and stepping out of the car.

Stiles scrambles eagerly out of the backseat. He’s hoping that, just once, things could actually go right. He presents his arms, and is gratified when Lydia and Allison each take one of his elbows. They all stroll in together, heads held high.

Lydia starts looking around as they make their way through the crowd, and he knows she’s looking for Jackson. Allison is slightly more subtle in her search for Scott.

They snag a table, and Allison goes to get them drinks. Stiles is betting the punch is already spiked.

 The dance is lively and loud, but it’s not quite enough to keep Stiles’ attention.

“All right,” Lydia says, managing to look put-upon and kind at the same time. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles looks at her in surprise. He didn’t think he was that obvious. “There’s just…someone I wish were here,” he says.

“A crush?” Lydia asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, picking at the table cloth. No sense in denying it.

“Why didn’t you invite her, then?” Lydia asks, taking a sip of the punch and wincing.

“Him,” Stiles corrects, enjoying the look of surprise on her face. “And I didn’t invite him because he’s not in high school anymore.”

“Ooh, you have a crush on an older guy?” Lydia says, looking intrigued.

“He’s not _that_ much older,” Stiles protests, feeling awkward. “Only, like, four years.”

Lydia nods. “Is he hot?”

“Gorgeous,” Stiles says, delighted to have someone to talk to about this. Scott always makes faces when Stiles tries to bring up Derek’s attractive qualities.

“Does he like you back?” Lydia asks, leaning closer.

“I…I think so? I hope so, at least,” Stiles says quietly.

Lydia settles back in her chair. “Tell me about him,” she says, and Stiles feels like he’s joined some kind of secret club.

So he tells Lydia everything non-werewolf-y about Derek, with a few distracted tangents about what Derek looks like shirtless. While he does, he idly watches Allison wander around, clearly searching.

Eventually Stiles starts looking around, too, and grins when he spots Scott hanging out by the bleachers.

Unfortunately, Coach notices him, too.

“McCall!” he shouts, and Stiles sits up in anticipation, ready to see some evasive maneuvers. Allison looks just as amused.

He’s not disappointed.

Coach chases Scott all around the gym, yelling all the while.

“He better come up with something good,” Lydia says, shaking her head. “Or he’s going to be kicked off the lacrosse team, too.”

Scott does something good, all right. Or at least, something underhanded.

In a truly ingenious move, he convinces Danny to dance with him just as Coach storms up, full of ire.

Everything comes to a standstill when Coach starts yelling, and it takes a minute before he realizes that everyone has gone silent.

“Yes, Coach?” Scott says with a cheeky grin, stepping closer to Danny.

Coach looks around, sees the conclusion everyone is drawing. “What? No, that’s not why,” he stumbles, seeing everyone’s judgmental faces. “Just dance!” he says, waving his arms dramatically. “Just dance, everybody!” he shouts, flustered, and makes a tactical retreat.

Stiles can’t help but laugh. And only a few minutes later, he gets to witness Scott and Allison’s first dance since the breakup. It’s so cute and mushy, Stiles has to look away, drink some of the nasty punch instead.

“I, uh, need to take a break,” Lydia says, standing up.

“You mean you need to go find Jackson,” Stiles says, with a knowing grin on his face.

“Yes,” Lydia concedes, giving him a small smile in return. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll be here.”

He loses track of time, gets distracted trying not to watch Scott and Allison stare soulfully at each other. Stiles really hopes Scott doesn’t mess it up, because she obviously still has feelings for him.

He starts to feel like something’s wrong, though, when he sees Jackson walking by. He’s alone. Stiles stumbles up out of his chair, anxiety building in his stomach.

“Hey, Jackson,” he calls, trying to sound casual. “Lydia was looking for you.”

Jackson gives him a pinched look. “I haven’t seen her,” he says. “I was out drinking in the parking lot.”

Stiles just barely resists rolling his eyes.

Jackson’s eyes narrow. “Chris Argent was out there, and he had a bunch of guys with him. Doesn’t that seem weird?” he asks, sounding bewildered.

“Shit,” Stiles says, ignoring Jackson’s questioning look. If the hunters are here, chances are good that Peter is, too.

And he has no idea where Lydia is.

He hurries away, paying no mind to Jackson. He goes out the same side door Lydia took, looking around wildly.

For some reason, every light on the lacrosse field is on.

Stiles starts running.

He knows it’s too late long before he gets there.

He skids to a halt as Peter stands, looming over Lydia’s motionless body. Blood drips down his chin as he gives Stiles a smirky little smile. “If you tell me where Derek is, I won’t kill her,” he says, like he’s doing Stiles a favor.

“You’re the Alpha,” Stiles says, trying to buy himself time. “Can’t you just sniff him out yourself?”

“I’ve been a little busy, planning my revenge,” Peter says, and his grin is just a little too pointy.

Stiles gulps. His idea had been risky to start with, but he’s really doubting it now.

Peter leans over Lydia menacingly, his claws extended. “Well?”

“Okay,” Stiles says hastily, looking down at Lydia. She’s bleeding a lot, and Stiles works to swallow down his guilt. He never intended anyone to get hurt. “I know where Derek is,” he says.

“Good,” Peter says, looking satisfied. “Come on. You’re going to take me there.”

“But what about her?” Stiles asks worriedly.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Call one of your little friends, let them know she’s here. But I don’t have time to wait around,” he says, pulling Stiles along as he dials.

He’s tempted to call Scott, but he and Allison are probably having sex behind the gym at this point. So he calls someone who really cares about Lydia, though he tries to hide it.

He calls Jackson.

Stiles tells him what he needs to know, then hangs up when Jackson starts demanding answers.

It’s out of his hands now.

He manages to get his phone back in his pocket before Peter starts shoving him into the driver’s side of the jeep. Thankfully, Scott left the keys in the ignition liked Stiles asked him to.

“Well?” Peter glowers when he just sits there. “Let’s go.”

Stiles knows he might be going to his death here, so he’s definitely going to make a fuss about it. He revvs up the jeep, and honks his horn as many times as he can as he drives out of the parking lot. He stops abruptly when Peter grabs his arm, his claws digging in.

Stiles smirks when he sees headlights slowly pull out behind him. With any luck, it’s Chris Argent and his arsenal of weapons.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he hopes that means Scott heard, too. He’s going to need all the help he can get.

Peter gives him an odd look when he turns up the trail into the preserve. “Where the hell are we going?” he asks, his eyes glowing a dangerous red.

Stiles’ foot nervously taps the brake. “You wanted me to take you to Derek, didn’t you?” he says defensively. “That’s what I’m doing.”

Peter looks even more pissed off when he pulls to a stop in front of the Hale house. “Are you fucking kidding me? He was here the whole time?”

“Yep,” Stiles says brightly, staring up at the dark, vacant windows. This place seems extra creepy now that he’s here in the company of a psychotic murder. He shudders, turns off the ignition.

“Wonder what he’s planning,” Peter mumbles as he steps out of the jeep.

Stiles watches him walk to the dilapidated porch, cocky and arrogant as ever. The front door makes an ominous noise when he pushes it open, but Peter doesn’t seem deterred.

He steps in, and moments later the sound of roars and splintering wood reach Stiles’ ears. He can only hope Derek can hold out long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

Just as he thinks it, Chis pulls up with Kate riding shotgun, a vicious smile on her face. The real shock, though, is when Allison climbs out of the back, bow and arrow in hand.

She looks angry, almost betrayed.

Shit.

Stiles suddenly remembers that his phone buzzed, pulls it out to look. There’s a text from Scott: _Bad shit went down at school, Chris knows about me. And Allison knows. Be there ASAP_

Stiles looks up as Derek gets thrown through a wall, skidding to a stop in front of the house. Allison coldly nocks an arrow and shoots him in the leg before he can get up. When he starts to pull it out, she sends one into his arm, too.

Kate looks all too pleased to see Derek incapacitated, and it makes Stiles feel sick to his stomach.

Derek starts crawling away, toward Stiles, but somehow none of the Argents are paying any attention. Stiles nervously follows their gaze to the doorway of the house.

Peter lurks there, his eyes glowing like hot coals.

Stiles feels his whole body tense as he emerges, fully transformed.

Suddenly Scott comes racing out of the woods, his claws bared. He charges straight for Peter, tackling him and knocking him back inside the house.

Looks like all that lacrosse practice is coming in handy.

Or maybe not.

Scott comes flying right back out again, through the hole Derek’s body made, coming to a stop almost at Allison’s feet. She gives him an unhappy look, then turns her attention to Peter again.

Time seems to speed up, because Peter becomes a dark blur, weaving around the Argents and knocking all their weapons to the ground.

Derek must have been healing all this time, because he manages to stagger to his feet next to Stiles, just as Peter grabs Kate and drags her halfway up the porch steps.

“Tell them what you did,” he hisses in her ear, as he shifts back to mostly-human. He leaves his claws at her throat, though.

Kate hesitates, and Peter snarls.

“I did it,” she chokes out. “I set the fire, I burned the Hales alive.”

Stiles is gratified to see Chris Argent’s horrified face. Kate really had been acting alone.

“We have a code,” Chris says sharply, lowering his weapon. “There were innocent people in that house, there were _children_.”

“They were monsters,” Kate sneers, like it’s a perfectly reasonable justification for murdering someone’s entire family.

Peter turns his head then, looks directly at Allison. “She looks like you, Kate. She’s probably planning to follow in your footsteps,” he growls. “But you know what? I’ll give you a chance to save her. Apologize. Apologize for what you did to me and my family.”

For a second, Stiles thinks she’s not going to do it.

“I…I’m sorry,” she gurgles out.

The next instant, Peter slashes her throat open with his claws.

Allison recoils, staggering backward.

Stiles takes advantage of Peter’s distraction as he drops Kate’s body and begins to shift, uses it to sneak to the back of the jeep.

He shoves the bottle of self-igniting Molotov cocktail into Derek’s hands, hissing, “Throw it!”

 Derek doesn’t even hesitate, just lobs the bottle at Peter.

Peter catches it.

Stiles groans. “Shit,” he says, getting ready to throw the other bottle, hoping Peter won’t catch it, too.

Scott’s one step ahead of him, though. “Allison!” he yells as he runs, grabbing her bow from the ground and tossing it over. “Shoot it!”

Whatever happened between them, she obviously still trusts Scott, at least a little. She nocks an arrow and aims true, the Molotov cocktail igniting in a burst of flames as the bottle shatters.

Peter roars in agony as trails of fire run down his body, spreading across the fur of his Alpha shift. Stiles forces himself not to flinch, not to look away, just winds back and throws the second bottle as hard as he can.

It shatters against Peter’s chest, covering him almost entirely in flame.

Stiles is really regretting his idea of attacking a man, who was driven mad by the burning of his family, with fire. He’s afraid Peter is going to attack them all in a fit of rage, but it doesn’t happen.

He just sinks to the ground, human now, his skin glowing with hot embers. He slumps backward, until he’s just lying in the leaves as he smokes and turns to ash, his eyes vacantly staring upward.

Derek moves then, walking in measured steps until he stands next to Peter, waiting.

Stiles knows he’s deciding whether he wants to kill the last living member of his family, the only one who could ever understand his loss.

He crouches down as he brings his arm back.

Peter gurgles then, focuses for a moment. “You won’t kill me. You can’t.”

In answer, Derek slices clean across Peter’s throat in a smooth arc. Stiles is close enough to see the light go out of Peter’s eyes.

He’s pretty sure some life goes out of Derek’s, too.

“I’m the alpha now,” he says heavily, almost on a sigh.

No one tries to stop him as he walks away into the woods.

 

*

 

Stiles stares after him for a long time, feeling like someone’s punched him in the gut.

He listens as Chris calls in an anonymous tip to the police, his voice hard. They’ll be showing up soon, so everyone clears out.

She returned to the scene of the crime, Stiles can’t help thinking. And she was killed there _._

She came back into town just to ruin Derek’s life again, so Stiles doesn’t feel bad about it at all.

And when he mentally follows the logical progression events, of how Kate must have known when and where to burn the Hales, he gets a sick feeling in his stomach. Because Derek _knew_ that she’d done it, and she’d had to have gotten the information from an inside source. Which means she must have used Derek, must have led him on. Must have made him _trust her_.

He would have been about sixteen then, and he suddenly understands the distain Derek has for Scott and Allison’s teenage romance.

He’s so distracted thinking about it, he almost misses the turn to Scott’s neighborhood. It’s been a long night.

Scott gives him a shaky smile before climbing out of the jeep. “Things will be better now,” he says, and he almost sounds like he believes it.

Stiles wants to ask him about Allison, about the way they were standing so close, leaning on each other, when Peter died. But he doesn’t have the energy. “Yeah,” he says. “Better.” He gives Scott a little wave, then drives away.

He’s not surprised to find his dad’s not home.

He can’t face the empty house right now, so he drives to the hospital to sit with Lydia instead.

 

*

 

The next morning the front page of the paper proclaims _Kate Argent Found Dead, Strongly Suspected of Hale House Fire_.

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief when he reads the rest of the article. The sheriff’s department believes Kate to be the mastermind, so all charges have been dropped on Derek. He’s no longer a wanted man.

At least that’s something settled, Stiles thinks, folding up the paper and throwing it back on the kitchen table.

Derek shows up at his house the very next day.

Stiles comes home from school, startling when he sees a dark shape lurking in the corner of his room. “Derek?” he asks nervously, his heart still racing.

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly, but he doesn’t move. He looks like he’s made of stone.

Stiles starts to feel worried. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Okay as I’ll ever be,” Derek says, which isn’t really an answer. “Do you want to see what I was working on, before I became a wanted criminal?”

Derek doesn’t say it with any real inflection, but Stiles bets he’s going to be bitter about that for a while longer.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, not sure what to expect.

“Come on, then,” Derek says, walking past him. For a moment his eyes glow a hot, bright red, then it’s gone.

Stiles stares after him, wondering if he imagined it.

Then he hurriedly follows Derek out to the Camaro, parked out in broad daylight again. Seeing it there gives Stiles a good feeling.

Derek drives them through town, casually going right past the Sherriff’s station as he does. A couple blocks past Main Street, he turns into a parking lot in front of a big, abandoned-looking building.

“Uh,” Stiles says, because he really doesn’t want Derek to get arrested for breaking and entering next.

Derek just gives him a little smirk, and climbs out of the car.

Stiles follows him up two flights of stairs, eyes flitting nervously around. Derek would know if there was someone there, but he still keeps expecting someone to jump out from behind a door and accuse them of trespassing.

Of course, that doesn’t happen.

They walk halfway down a long hallway, stopping in front of a huge metal door. Derek glances over at him, eyes sweeping across his face, then yanks the door open.

Stiles gasps when a magnificent wall of windows is revealed in the center of a huge, open loft. Despite its obvious wear and neglect, it clearly has potential. “This is incredible,” he says, stepping inside.

At first, he thinks it’s completely empty, but he spots a table and chairs in the kitchen, and a bed in the upper level of the room. _Derek Hale has a real bed now_ , he thinks wonderingly.

“I thought so, too. I bought the building,” Derek says casually.

Stiles almost asks where the money came from, but he’s pretty sure he can guess. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Now that I’m no longer under suspicion, I’m going to get some more things, clean this place up,” Derek says. “But I wanted you to see it.”

“I’m glad you showed me, this is really amazing,” Stiles says. “So I guess this means you’re going to stick around?”

“I thought I might start a pack here,” Derek says. “And Scott clearly needs more help.”

“Hey, he’s getting better,” Stiles says, laughing.

“A little,” Derek concedes.

“Seriously, this is great,” Stiles says, walking to the windows and turning, taking in the whole loft. “Does anyone else live in the building?”

“No,” Derek says. “I figured members of my pack could live here, if they wanted to.”

Stiles detects a hint of insecurity in Derek’s tone, gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure they would. I’d love to live here,” he says.

“You can,” Derek says immediately, no hesitation at all. “You’re pack to me, you’re always welcome.”

Stiles is speechless for a long moment. “But I’m not a werewolf,” he says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek says firmly. He looks away, his shoulders hunching. “I’d like it if you were here.”

Stiles hesitates, then decides he might as well go for it. “Derek…are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asks nervously.

“You’re seventeen, Stiles,” Derek says, dropping his head.

And that answers that question. “It’s almost the end of my junior year,” Stiles says, feeling hopeful. Derek must have some feelings for him. “I’ll be eighteen in a few months, if that makes you feel better.”

Derek smiles a little at that. “Not really.”

“All right,” Stiles says. “Then maybe this will.” He carefully slides his arms around Derek, watching his face to make sure this is okay. He almost regrets it, because Derek looks completely broken before he pulls Stiles in close.

Stiles holds on tight, tilting his head when Derek presses his face into his neck, his stubble gently rasping against his skin.

They stay like that, clinging together, for a long time.

Derek takes a deep, shuddery breath, then he lets go.

“We should maybe do that every day,” Stiles says, trying for a joking tone but not quite making it. He can still feel Derek’s warmth against him, and he wants it back.

“Yeah,” Derek says, crossing his arms defensively and turning away.

Stiles’ gaze darts over Derek’s tense posture. He knows Derek doesn’t think he deserves comfort.

He reaches out, lets his fingers just brush Derek’s shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” he says. “If you need me, you know where to find me.” Then he leaves Derek be.

 

*

 

He’s back the next afternoon, though. And the one after that. Sometimes he brings over his laptop, and they watch movies. And sometimes he brings over ingredients, and he and Derek cook dinner together in his huge kitchen.

Scott is sort-of in Derek’s pack, because he can’t really make up his mind. He’s too busy rekindling his connection with Allison, anyway. He comes over sometimes to talk about werewolf stuff, and somehow he always seems surprised to see Stiles there. It’s kind of funny.

Stiles likes spending time with Derek. He’s seemed at loose ends since Peter died, and Stiles doesn’t want him to get too lonely. He likes seeing who Derek is when he lets his guard down a little.

Derek keeps talking about starting another pack, but he never seems to find anyone suitable. Stiles thinks Derek is too busy healing to have much time for other people.

Besides, Derek has his hands full keeping up with him and Scott. They’re both very good at getting themselves in trouble.

It happens one night, when he ends up staying late on a Saturday, studying hard for finals. Summer break (and his birthday) are nearly upon him, and he can’t wait. He keeps getting distracted by imagining how great it’ll be, spending the summer with Derek.

When he finally decides it’s time to go home, Derek helps him gather his papers and notebooks, scowling at him when he yawns. He tells him to drive carefully, gently resting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder as he does.

Then he dips in, gives Stiles a tiny kiss on the lips. It’s so quick, it takes Stiles a moment to realize what happened.

Derek gives him a little smile, and Stiles just stares. “What was that for?” he asks. Because he hugs Derek every day, but this seems like a great addition.

“I just wanted to,” Derek says, looking almost shy.

“Oh,” Stiles says, feeling a little breathless. “Well, if you ever want to do it again, feel free.” Because that kiss had been so short, he’d hadn’t been able to really enjoy it.

Derek’s face softens even more. “I always feel like kissing you,” he says.

Stiles can’t resist sliding into Derek’s arms then, giving him a kiss that lasts a little longer. “Good,” he says. “Because I feel the same way.”

It’s a while before he actually ends up leaving.

Derek is a _very_ good kisser.

 

*

 

“It’s been two whole weeks since my birthday. Are you sure you don’t want to wait a little longer?” Stiles says dryly. “A couple of months, maybe?”

Derek stops kissing his neck then, pulls back far enough for Stiles to see his eyebrows raise. “We don’t have to do this at all,” he says, smirking.

Stiles rolls his eyes, because while Derek might be the king of self-control, he knows Derek wants this just as much as he does.

They’ve been moving progressively closer to this, ever since that first kiss a few months ago. Derek had gradually allowed (and even initiated himself), more touching, more intimate contact.

Stiles had come over on the night of this eighteenth birthday, anxious and excited and all ready to be sexed up. Instead, Derek had pulled him down onto the couch and snuggled him close. He’d kissed Stiles softly on the lips, then run his hands through Stiles’ hair until he’d relaxed, and eventually drifted off.

He’d woken up the next morning in bed with Derek. He’d dramatically crossed his arms and glared, but couldn’t help laughing at Derek’s overly innocent expression.

And honestly, he was grateful.

It had taken the pressure off. It was obvious Derek must have sensed how nervous he was.

So they’d done a lot of kissing, a lot of touching, and a surprising amount of cuddling. Once, feeling bold, Stiles had slowly pulled Derek’s shirt off and crawled into his lap. He’d let his hands rove all over Derek’s body, loving and appreciating, while Derek had just held him close and let him touch his fill.

And now he’d like to do all of that again, but this time with both of them naked.

“No, we don’t have to,” Stiles says, trying not to sound desperate. “But I really, _really_ want to.”

Derek smirks at that, then pulls back just far enough to tug Stiles’ shirt off. He trails his fingers down Stiles’ chest as he slides back into his space, placing hot little kisses along his collarbones.

Stiles arches against the bed, hard and aching, as Derek works his mouth lower and lower, filling him with a desperate kind of fire. When he feels fingers pulling at the front of his jeans, though, he clamps his hands down on Derek’s shoulders and pants, “Wait, wait.”

And Derek does immediately, stilling his motions and looking up at Stiles.

“Come here,” Stiles says softly, tugging until Derek slides back up his body, gently resting his weight against Stiles. “Look, I know its super cliché to say ‘I love you’ after sex, so I thought I’d say it now, okay?” he says in a breathless rush. “I love you.”

He leans up and presses a kiss to Derek’s lips, which are parted in surprise. When he pulls away, Derek still looks shocked, and it takes a moment for him to react.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he breathes, then swoops down and kisses him fiercely, pouring everything he has into it.

Stiles just holds on tight, overwhelmed and so full of happiness he could burst.

Derek slowly breaks the kiss, his expression so open and soft that it makes Stiles’ heart ache.

“Stiles, you know that I…” Derek says, and he’s clearly struggling. He looks at Stiles for a long time, eyes tracing over his face, before he ducks his head, presses his lips to Stiles’ neck. He kisses along the skin there, stubble pleasantly rasping as he works his way up, and whispers, “ _I love you_ ,” against the curve of Stiles’ jaw.

At that, Stiles drags him into another kiss, letting his hands slip under Derek’s shirt and trace along the muscles of his back, the curves of his ribs. He rucks the fabric up higher and higher, wanting to touch Derek everywhere, trying to put reassurance into every touch.

When it’s up to his armpits, Derek pulls back with an amused smirk and shrugs it off, tossing it on the floor. Stiles tugs him back down, making a quiet, happy noise at the sensation of bare skin against bare skin.     

Derek grins at him, then proceeds to kiss his way back down Stiles’ chest, taking a brief detour at each of his nipples before moving on. He’s placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on Stiles’ stomach, his stubble adding a pleasant tingling, when he feels Derek’s hands move.

The sound of his zipper is perfectly audible, even over the sound of his panting, and he tightens his grip on Derek’s shoulders in anticipation.

Derek’s hands are suddenly at his hips, and he grabs the waistband of Stiles’ jeans, pulling them down a few inches. The sensation of cool air against his cock, followed almost immediately by the warmth of Derek’s breath, makes Stiles gasp, makes his hips lift, wanting more. Derek favors him with a quick glance, looks pleased with what he sees.

He slides his lips against the head of Stiles’ cock, then takes a couple of firm licks, and even through the thin material of his boxers it feels _amazing._

His hips jolt when Derek starts to lightly suck, pulling Stiles as far into his mouth as he can. Stiles trembles, aching, wanting there to be nothing between them, wanting all the layers stripped away.

Derek seems to read his mind, because a moment later he’s pulling off, his fingers sliding under the edge of Stiles’ jeans and tugging them down his legs. Stiles helpfully levers himself up, and breathes a sigh of relief when they’re finally off.

He still has his boxers on, though.

He can see the dark patch where Derek’s mouth has been, indistinguishable from the wetness of his own arousal. His dick twitches against the coolness, and he feels embarrassingly close to coming already.

Derek appears to be admiring his handiwork, and Stiles feels a pleasant shiver roll through him at the hungry way Derek is looking at him.

He slowly slides his hands up Stiles’ thighs, then up over his hips, until his fingertips can dip under the waistband of Stiles’ boxers. He pulls them down just far enough to free Stiles’ cock, and Stiles finds he’s breathing hard as Derek leans in.

He slides his hands around Stiles’ hips, holding tight, just as his mouth closes over the head of Stiles’ dick. Stiles’ whole body tenses up at the sensation of being surrounded by wet heat, and he can’t help the way his thighs clench, trying to lift him, trying to push him deeper into Derek’s mouth.

Derek manages to keep him mostly still, and Stiles begins to shudder as Derek sucks him in further, making a pleased rumble as he swallows around Stiles’ cock.

Stiles gasps, toes curling, and his hands fly to Derek’s hair as he begins to bob his head. He always knew blowjobs would be good, but he didn’t know they’d be _this good._

Derek has him at the edge already, and he quietly keens, wanting to thrust, wanting to come.

And Derek must be able to tell, because he pulls off, lightly biting at Stiles’ thighs as his hands slide up and pinch his nipples. He keeps teasing, licking at Stiles’ balls and scratching his nails across his ribs, and avoids his dick completely.

It’s too late, though. Stiles is way too turned on to last much longer, no matter what Derek does.

So when Derek finally moves back to his cock, slowly licking up the length of it, he moans in anticipation. Derek drags his lips across the head, teasing, before pulling Stiles into his mouth again. He sucks hard, tongue flat and encouraging against the underside. Then he takes Stiles further, swallowing around him before pulling back again.

Stiles can feel the pleasure gathering at the base of his dick, growing more intense, and he tugs at Derek’s hair, manages to gasp, “I’m gonna come.”

Derek just dips his head, sucking even harder, and Stiles is coming almost before he realizes it. He gasps, back arching as his orgasm rolls through him, shuddering as Derek swallows around him, his hips twitching at the sensation.

Stiles closes his eyes, shivering as Derek takes his last few licks against his oversensitive cock. His body is still thrumming with pleasure, and he lays there for a moment, letting it wash through him.

When he manages to pry his eyes open, he can’t help noticing Derek’s smug smirk. He grins, grabs Derek’s shoulder to pull him closer.

He leans in and gives Derek a soft kiss on the lips. “That was amazing,” he says, then kisses him again, letting his tongue slip into Derek’s mouth to taste himself. Derek makes a pleased sound, kissing him even more deeply.

Stiles drops his hand down to Derek’s jeans, lets it skate across the hard ridge of his cock, loving the way his hips buck forward in response. He has a flash of arousal, imagining making Derek come in his pants.

Maybe another time.

He gives one last hard stroke, enjoying the moan Derek makes, before he starts pulling at the front of his jeans. Derek makes a little gasp of relief when he gets them undone, then another, louder one when Stiles slides his hand into Derek’s underwear, fingertips teasing along the head of his cock.

Derek’s laying on his side, so he lifts himself and wiggles, pushing everything down a few inches and giving Stiles access. When he settles back down, Stiles doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around Derek’s cock, giving it a couple of light strokes.

It sends a jolt of heat through him when Derek gently thrusts into his grip, eyes fluttering closed. Derek’s arousal is such a turn on to him, he doesn’t even know how to deal with it.

He edges closer, until Derek’s cock is practically against his belly, then brings up his other hand, making a tunnel for Derek to thrust into. He does, almost immediately, and Stiles is instantly addicted to the sensation, awed by the contained power of Derek’s body.

It makes him wonder what it would be like to be fucked by Derek, and what it would be like to fuck him. He wants to try _everything._

Stiles leans his head forward, softly kissing at the hollow of Derek’s throat. He doesn’t expect Derek to make a quiet moan and then tilt his head, giving him more access.

But he’s certainly willing to take the invitation.

He runs his lips along Derek’s throat, then gently nips with his teeth. That makes Derek growl, makes his thrusts speed up, so Stiles helpfully tightens his grip.

That seems to be doing the trick, because Derek is suddenly panting hard, hips jerking in erratic little bursts, his whole body drawing taut.

Stiles’ arms are aching, but he perseveres, because he _knows_ Derek is close. Trying to concentrate, he tips his chin down, and gently bites at the join between Derek’s neck and shoulder before he realizes he’s doing it.

A second later Derek is shuddering hard as he comes, hips still rocking into Stiles’ hands as he raggedly gasps for air. Stiles carefully lifts his mouth from Derek’s shoulder as he lets him work himself through it, loving the way he shivers as he milks his orgasm.

Derek finally grinds to a halt, still breathing hard, and he hauls Stiles’ closer, until they’re pressed tightly together. He gently nuzzles against Stiles’ cheek, then places a line of kisses along his jaw.

“Mmm,” Stiles says sleepily, curling his hands around Derek’s hips. “We should totally do that again.”

“After a nap,” Derek rumbles, holding Stiles tight. “And maybe a shower.”

“Probably a good idea,” Stiles says. He dips his head to press a kiss against Derek’s chest, then lets out a little sigh of contentment.

Because he knows that if Scott calls with a problem, or a new monster shows up in town, Derek will be there. Or if a ghost appears, looking for his help, Derek will have his back. No matter what happens, Derek will be there.

Stiles lets his eyes slide shut, and finds that he’s smiling.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] What Trouble Can Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399503) by [rozurashii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/pseuds/rozurashii)




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